


Equilibrium

by TripUpStairs



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Romance, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 67,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TripUpStairs/pseuds/TripUpStairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel makes a deal to ensure Quinn lives following the car accident and ultimately changes her own life in turn. She quickly learns that there is no easy happy ending when you mess with fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deal

**Author's Note:**

> This multichapter fic is a continuation of my oneshot "Price of Fate." If you haven't read that oneshot, and you've stumbled your way here, don't worry. This first chapter is an extended cut of sorts of the oneshot. If you did check it out, this chapter goes into a lot more detail and includes some new scenes to set the stage for the rest of the fic.
> 
> This fic is canon up to "Choke." There are also some canon elements from "Prom-asaurus." I would classify this principally as a college!Faberry fic.
> 
> I apologize in advance for any medical inaccuracies.
> 
> Please see my ["Equilibrium" Master Post](http://justtripping.tumblr.com/equilibrium) for full author's notes and commentary. Be aware of spoilers if you do choose to look at it.
> 
> Finally, thank you to thoughtsinorange.

The secondhand ticks ever slowly. It circles and circles. Endless. Infinite. Time only has meaning if there is death to go with life.

She sleeps.

* * *

" _Please! You can't let her die. You can't let her die_. _She doesn't deserve this! PLEASE!" Rachel cries. She's sitting on the ground. Her palms are pressed together and against her forehead, almost like she's praying—and maybe, maybe she is. She rocks, shaking. She gasps, sucking in uneven breaths._

_More desperate words spill from her mouth—a mantra of wretched, urgent lyrics._

_She begs, she pleads. She just wants someone to hear her because Quinn doesn't deserve this._

" _Please, this can't be her fate! Not now! Not when things are finally going right for her! She doesn't deserve it! Let her live!"_

" **Is this what you wish for Rachel Barbra Berry? In your heart of hearts?"**

_The voice echoes all around her. It's composed and androgynous. Each word is carefully measured in the same even tone as its predecessor._

_Rachel, for the first time, tries to focus on her surroundings. She can't. There's nothing but an infinite expanse of gray. No beginning and no end. The voice is bodiless, but not lifeless. She can feel it living and breathing around her._

" _Yes! Please!" Rachel says, her voice broken. "Let her live!"_

" **To live is not in Lucy Quinn Fabray's fate Rachel Barbra Berry."**

" _Then change it! Change her fate!"_

_She's angry now. Why dangle hope in front of her only to snatch it away?_

" **To change a person's fate is no simple task Rachel Barbra Berry. To change it, another must change theirs in return. To give, something else must be taken away. I ask once again Rachel Barbra Berry. In your heart of hearts, do wish for Lucy Quinn Fabray to live?"**

" _You mean," Rachel whispers, "if my fate, my life, is altered from what it is supposed to be, Quinn will live."_

" **Yes."**

" _Then yes," she says resolutely, "I'll give anything to allow Quinn a chance to live."_

" **It is done."**

* * *

"Hey... Hey Rachel. Wake up."

Rachel opens her eyes to the waiting room of the hospital. Her vision is blurry and full. She realizes that she's been crying in her sleep. She blinks rapidly, clearing her sight and mind. And with it, everything suddenly comes together. She sits up quickly, adrenaline pumping through her system.

"Rachel, hey," Finn says quietly from next to her, reaching out and placing an arm around her. She had been leaning against his shoulder. He's anxious, she can tell. His leg bounces erratically. "The doctors are here."

"Hey baby girl," her dad says from her other side. "Do you… do you want to listen?"

Rachel looks over the short distance to where Ms. Fabray stands with a couple of doctors. Her heart picks up its pace as the rest of the glee club begins to crowd together near the doctors. Santana and Brittany curl around each other. Tina and Mike hold hands in a white-knuckled grip. Puck paces, his jaw tight. Kurt and Blaine, Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury, Sam and Mercedes, Rory, Sugar, Artie. Rachel wastes no more time. She springs to her feet, dragging Finn with her. She wipes at her eyes, trying to get rid of the remnants of tears for at least the moment.

She steals a glance at the clock on her way. The secondhand keeps ticking. Quinn's been in surgery for hours.

"Ms. Fabray, are you okay with us sharing your daughter's status?" one of the doctors begins, surveying the crowd around her.

Judy Fabray nods her head tightly, granting her consent. She looks as if she will break if anyone touches her.

"There's no getting around it. Quinn sustained substantial injuries. We momentarily lost her on the operating table," the doctor says gravely. Rachel feels as if her own heart stopped. There's a choked sob from somewhere in their crowd as well as a number of shaky gasps. Thankfully, the doctor quickly continues. "We were able to revive her. With some difficulty, but we were still able to revive her. We're not in the clear yet, but right now, she's a very lucky girl…"

The doctor goes on with words like broken, bruised, spine, emergency, weak, bleeding. It's terrifying. But Quinn's alive.

Quinn's  _alive_.

And after the briefing is over, after hearing everything, Rachel is simultaneously relieved and numb because it seems impossible that anyone could be alive after  _that_. And then there's the paralysis. She thinks about Quinn, graceful and fluid, and tries to imagine her unable to dance.  _She can't_.

There's more waiting. The secondhand on the large clock over reception moves slowly, so slowly. It's supposed to be at least two hours before anyone is actually allowed to visit Quinn. Rachel knows it's to ensure Quinn's stable. But it is one thing to know and another entirely to accept. All she wants is to see Quinn. To make sure for herself that Quinn is alive. And then maybe she can start to process  _everything_  else.

A few people leave—Rory, Sugar—and others still refuse when their parents come calling—Mercedes, Mike. It's past visiting hours. While everyone besides Ms. Fabray is frowned at, the hospital still hands off visitor badges to stay overnight. Lima Memorial probably has its fair share of trauma patients, but they normally don't have a dozen high school students waiting for one of their own. Rachel sits between her dad and Finn. They're big and secure, but their presence is almost too much. She feels smothered. When Finn gets up to take a walk or use the bathroom or she doesn't even know—she wasn't listening—Kurt sits down beside her almost immediately.

He's silent, staring pensively into the distance, and then after a moment he speaks. "The last time I spoke to Quinn, I belittled everything she went through. I told her she had no idea what pain is," his voice breaks, but he presses on before Rachel can say anything. "And now, all I can sit here thinking about is everything Quinn did go through, and how I can't believe I told her she never suffered. That's before  _this_. The last thing I said was that she doesn't know suffering. Well congrats to me, looks like she'll know it even more now."

Rachel doesn't say anything. She's not sure what she can say.

"The last thing…" Kurt echoes and a noise escapes out of his mouth that is both a laugh and a sob.

Rachel's abruptly angry as Kurt's words finally process. But just as quickly it rises, the anger falls away. There's nothing to sustain it when Kurt is upset as he is, and she has too much weight from her own guilt to shoulder his too. "You were scared—I'm assuming it had to do with Dave? But that was selfish," Rachel whispers. "I've been scared, and I've been selfish too."

It's the first time she's whispered that confession about her life from the past weeks aloud, and it makes the truth of it even more real. Kurt hears, but he doesn't understand.

"I was scared," Kurt says. "Suicide is—I was scared. But I wasn't right. I was awful to her. Just because someone is pretty and smart doesn't mean they don't suffer. …Rachel?"

"Yes?"

"I'm scared for her now." And then Kurt leaves and Rachel processes. And the secondhand on the clock ticks on.

The waiting room seems as if it's all she's ever known. The events of what was supposed to be happiest day of her life are clouded and distant. She's not quite sure how she got to the hospital, or when her wedding dress became jeans and a soft sweater. Rachel thinks it would have felt like a bubbly blur if things had gone the way they were supposed to, but now the wedding, and everything related to it, feels so reckless. So contrived.

So  _stupid_.

Because Quinn is in the intensive care unit with broken bones, internal bleeding, bruised organs, a concussion, and a pinched spinal cord. Quinn's alive. Quinn's  _paralyzed_.

Rachel's a child, trying to play adult. She's lost, and instead of asking for directions, she presses on and on and on hoping to figure it out on her own. Finn seems like an answer. But marriage?  _Marriage?_ That's certainly not an answer to her fear, her doubt. It shouldn't have taken  _this_  to see it.

Finn is still there, sitting beside her. They don't touch each other, but he's there. He's solid and real, and she can take comfort in that because nothing seems tangible anymore. Life is so quick, so precious, and she tried to race through it. That wasn't the answer. She values his life. She values her own life. Together, she thinks they can be beautiful. But it didn't have to be today. She didn't have to choose immediately. She could have, should have listened. There's always tomorrow. Even if the clock almost stopped ticking for Quinn.

She would do anything to make sure Quinn lives. She knows that without a doubt. That dream, whatever it was, is entirely too real. She would make that decision, that very same decision for Quinn in a conscious state. Altering her life? Her life would be changed without Quinn. Her life is changed already with Quinn.

Then the doctors return. She's not sure how far the secondhand has ticked. It was worse before, when they didn't know, when they had no idea. During this wait, some of her friends spoke in hushed tones, while others managed to rest without the wide, scared eyes. But aside from her conversation with Kurt, Rachel keeps her silence.

The entire glee club follows Ms. Fabray and the doctors at a short distance to the ICU. Rachel finds herself trailing the pack with Finn. Her dads wait behind with the Hummel-Hudsons, Mr. Schuester, and Ms. Pillsbury. She appreciates them still being there. She also wonders if it means anything that she much rather be holding one of her fathers' arms than Finn's.

Rachel can just hear the doctor speak to Ms. Fabray as he pulls to a stop outside the door. "…prepare yourself. No more than ten minutes at a time, and only two of anyone at a time."

The others take seats at the chairs and benches in the small waiting area of the ICU section. It's more waiting, but at least it's a different location. And she's closer to Quinn. She stares at the door just a few yards away. And then the secondhand is moving much faster because Ms. Fabray comes out and disappears before anyone can ask anything.

They stare at each other and back to the door of Quinn's room. Rachel's heart pounds, and she stands up just as Puck speaks. "I'm going."

"Like hell you are," Santana growls, jumping to her feet. "All of you have treated her like shit. Britt and I are going in."

"And you haven't?" Mercedes snaps.

"I've been there more than anyone else has," Santana says, but her eyes are on Rachel. It's an admission, an acknowledgement.

"We've all been awful to each other on more than one occasion," Mike says lowly before anyone else can say anything.

The sad thing is that he's right, and they all know it.

"Seniority then," Santana growls. "Quinn's always been my girl even when we're fighting."

Santana marches over with Brittany following, their hands grasped tightly together and brokering no more arguments. They hesitate before walking into the room, and Rachel watches as Santana's shoulders rise and fall with a single deep breath before stepping inside.

Silence reigns among their group, and Rachel stares at the door that gets closed behind them.

The secondhand ticks on.

The door opens, not at all gently, and Santana barges out, eyes red and shining. Brittany follows, and the evidence of her tears is even more pronounced in her blue gaze. Rachel jumps to her feet this time. She's in front of the door to Quinn's room in a heartbeat near Santana and Brittany, and she's not even quite sure how she got there.

"How is she?" Finn asks as he catches up to her.

"Fuck you," Santana hisses.

Finn draws back, but Rachel feels no heat in Santana's curse. Only fear and distress and superficial anger because Rachel knows Santana well enough to know that anger is easy for her. Anger can hide other, more painful things. Rachel wants to say something, but it was  _her_  wedding, and  _her_ texts, and  _her_  insistence. The weight of it is almost impossible to carry (but she has to, she has to carry it because it is  _hers_ ), and she knows Santana will only have anger for her too. Brittany pulls Santana away, wrapping her up in her arms, and cooing into her ear.

And Finn is beside her. He's real. Tangible.

She doesn't touch him.

Instead, she hovers at the door to Quinn's hospital room, and then walks in without a word to anyone else.

She barely acknowledges the nurse hovering around Quinn. She knows it would be polite to announce her presence, but Rachel can't bring herself to tear her attention away from Quinn for even a moment now that she's before her. If she looks away, she's terrified Quinn won't be there when she looks back.

And it hurts to look at Quinn, to bear witness to the injuries. The angry bruising, the red cuts, the surgical wraps, the IV, the tubes.

It's worse than she imagined. It all feels like a hospital drama suddenly come to life in Lima with the pretty young woman horrifically injured and fighting for her life. But it's all terrifyingly real. What scares her the most is the pallor of Quinn's face and figure.

The silent paleness whispers of death.

Rachel thinks the steady beep of the heart monitor is the most beautiful sound in the world.

* * *

The secondhand keeps ticking. Mr. Schuester and Ms. Pillsbury are taking their turn in Quinn's room, but a number of them can't bring themselves to leave the hospital even though they all know it could be days before Quinn wakes up. They sit in the tiny cafeteria. Normal visiting hours are still some time away.

Around her, they talk, and it's about good things. It's one of those moments where glee club really does feel like a family.

Rachel doesn't speak a word. But no one seems to really be his or her self right now. There's still something comforting about the group of them, all here together. It's when the conversation lags, and they all reflect again on exactly where they are, that it becomes hard to look at anyone.

What she wants above all right now is to be besides Quinn. But it's not her place, not her time. No matter how much she wants to be the one telling Quinn that she's going to be okay. She lost that right if she ever had it to begin with.

She stares off at the TV hanging in the corner of the cafeteria. The local news is playing its early morning segment. The sound is off, but closed captions run across the bottom of the screen. If she tries hard enough and squints just right, she can read the yellowed words. But her mind is elsewhere, on  _Quinn_ , and all the things she could have done different, and all the things she wants to do different because of Quinn. Because Quinn is special. Extraordinary.

It startles her when the screen switches from the comforting mediocrity of the Lima newsroom to an early evening skyline. The on scene reporter stares grimly into the camera, but behind her are the flashing lights of a fire truck and a police car, a large truck with a dented front, and the crushed remains of a small red car.

It takes her a second to realize that the small red car is actually a Volkswagen. It takes her another second to realize that the Volkswagen is Quinn's. She latches onto Finn's arm with a death grip because he's the closet to her. A whimper escapes from the back of her throat, but her sudden movement and noise is enough to draw scrutiny to what captured her attention.

The rest of the glee club falls silent, staring at the screen as it returns to the newsroom and the closed captions running underneath.  _"Miss Fabray was in critical condition when she was pulled from the wreckage of her vehicle and taken to Lima Memorial. Our thoughts are with her. You can expect no further delays at the intersection."_

"Fuck," Puck says, the word hard and biting. He runs a hand through his mohawk, and his next word is a subdued mutter. "Quinn…"

Rachel swallows down her distress, but can't bring her self to speak for whole new reasons. She's sure if she lets go, releasing anything,  _everything_ she is will tumble out.

She buries her head into her arms on the table, drawing in on herself. The secondhand keeps circling, and no one moves around her. Her breathing evens out, and she thinks  _Quinn_  before falling asleep.

She dreams of an infinite expanse of gray and the ticking sound of a clock.

* * *

They all have to leave the hospital eventually. School means nothing, but she has to go. Her dads say it will be good for her. It's a lie.

She's at the hospital every hour she's not sleeping or at school. The first day she's gone, Quinn's moved out of the ICU. It's a relief, and she halfway expects Quinn to wake immediately. She doesn't.

Rachel learns that Quinn wakes, really wakes, on her fifth day in the hospital. Ms. Fabray sends a text to Ms. Lopez who then sends a text to Santana. And that's how Rachel finds herself speeding to the hospital with Santana and Brittany, skipping their afternoon classes for the day. They charge in, making enough of a scene to draw the attention of the nurses on Quinn's floor. One nurse heads them off before they burst into Quinn's room.

"Stay calm," the nurse says. "She's going to be out of it."

The nurse moves aside, and the door to Quinn's room yawns an opening. Suddenly, Rachel's nervous, but Santana presses on with hardly a glance to the nurse. Brittany follows behind, leaving Rachel alone outside.

Rachel steels herself, and then steps into Quinn's room.

It's not enough.

Quinn lies there, beautiful and broken. She's pale (not like death, not anymore). Shaking. She's crying. Silent.

Quinn's eyes fall on her, and they're bright from her tears. Rachel's certain her heart stops beating because, with eyes on her, Quinn seems cognizant.

Ms. Fabray doesn't seem to know what to do with herself. She ripples through the room, insubstantial. It's Brittany who gives her meaning. "It's okay," she whispers. Rachel remembers how smart Brittany can be at times as Ms. Fabray nods her head sharply, her strength fading even with that.

It's Brittany who strides forward, taking Ms. Fabray's place and Quinn's hand. "It hurts?" she says.

Rachel is frozen by the eyes on her, but Quinn finally releases her from her gaze. Rachel's heart pounds. Someone sucks in a breath, and she thinks it must be her for a moment. Then she realizes it's actually Santana who stands with her arms wrapped around herself.

"It hurts," Quinn chokes. "Then  _nothing_."

Rachel knows Quinn's talking about her legs. She knows Quinn hates to be seen as weak. She knows Quinn hurts. She watches a nurse change out the IV, and watches the drugs pump into Quinn's blood. Quinn calms, her eyes droop. She sleeps. And then Rachel hurts. Really  _hurts_.

She backs out of the room. She calls Finn to come pick her up. He does. She cries the whole way home.

Days pass and then weeks.

Rachel continues to dream in gray.

* * *

She can't bring herself to see Quinn again. She hears about the recovery process instead. About Quinn sleeping and sleeping. The morphine and stirring into half-consciousness. Quinn goes back into surgery three separate times. Then it's more of Quinn awake and coherent then Quinn sleepy and out of it. Rachel's putting on her shoes and halfway out the door before she retreats back into her room too many instances to count.

She throws herself into her schoolwork and glee and preparing for her NYADA audition. Then there's Finn, and she's not even sure what to make of that. It's all wonderfully distracting and stressful, even if Quinn is always there, lurking in the back of her mind.

And then, one day, just like that, Quinn is back in school. She's smiling and warm and  _alive_ , and Rachel goes on autopilot. She holds it together until the glee club meeting in the library, and she holds it together until she's back home, safe in her room. She thinks about Quinn's hand in hers, calloused and strong. She remembers the way Quinn's hand flexed, the way her fingers felt tightening the hold.

She allows herself to cry for only a few more minutes because her NYADA audition is literally right around the corner.

She has to be perfect.

Her day finally arrives, and she wakes to a gray sky. She thinks about Finn and Kurt. She thinks about Quinn. The morning flies by and soon the afternoon goes with it.

She feels like she blinks only to find herself standing in front of Carmen Tibideaux.

The music comes easily. "Don't Rain on My Parade" is her song. She can sing it backwards, double-tempo, in her dreams. She owns the first few bars and knows it will go smoothly the rest of the way. Her audition will go just like she always imagined it. NYADA and New York are waiting for her. Then…

The lyrics are stolen from the tip of her tongue.

Apologies and platitudes flow without difficulty.

Her heart pounds. She breathes. She tries again.

She can feel the lyrics coming wrong this time. She tries to stop them, tries to correct herself. She only succeeds in hitting the wrong note.

Her opportunity is gone, and she's left in darkness on the stage.

She finds herself frozen. The darkness bleeds into gray.

**It is done.**


	2. Reset

She skips school the day after the audition. Everything is gray.

* * *

The day off is more about accepting and resolving herself to her fate than about self-pity. Rachel had more than enough self-pity the night of her failed audition. Finn held her and told her it was going to be okay.

It isn't.

She knows that. But she's gone this long without breaking, and she will not let her peers at McKinley see her react to her failure. She'll hold her head high, and she'll make it back home. If she cries when she gets home, in the safety of her room, so be it.

She won't let them see her break.

All the same, she doesn't feel real. She's a shadow, a shade. Insignificant. Indistinct. She's one of  _them_ , and maybe that's what hurts the most.

She skips glee because she doesn't even have the strength for that.

It's on her way home that she thinks that she never saw Quinn that day. For a second, she contemplates going to the Fabray home. Seeing Quinn would put it all back into perspective. Didn't she decide, after all, that she would give up everything for Quinn to live? And Quinn, right now, struggles to even move her toes.

Rachel's dream was always fragile anyway.

How many actually make it? How many actually have their dream come true? Quinn's alive with all her mental faculties and working to regain her physical ones. She could have—should have— _died_  in that car accident. Rachel knows she would give it all up again just for that. She also knows she won't be able to hold it together in front of Quinn, and right now it's not supposed to be about her and her failed dream.

Even though Quinn always told her she was meant for more.

Rachel has to pull over. Her car is suddenly much too small, and the drowning in her chest is much too big. She scrambles out of the car, shaking hands somehow able to release her seatbelt and open the door. She chokes, struggling to breathe through her tears. She retches. Her dignity, her sense of self-worth. Everything about her is a lie. She was never meant for more.

When she's finally able to regain control, she's sure she has cried enough in the past two months to last her the rest of her life. She continues her drive home through the gray.

* * *

Each day is a little better than the day before. She's surprised at how fast prom comes, but maybe she shouldn't be. High school is all she has left. And then what? It's kind of easy to throw herself into glee and classes and Finn.

The least she can do is enjoy all that's left to her. She talks to Quinn (when she's there; she misses a lot due to her physical therapy). She can't  _not_. At the same time, she can't bring herself to breach the hard topics and, neither, it seems, can Quinn. Rachel doesn't ask about physical therapy even though there's this constriction in her chest every time she hears about Joe. Quinn doesn't ask about NYADA or about Finn. There are moments in their conversations about nothing that lag, and each time Rachel knows one of them almost breaks their apparent code of silence. They never quite make it there. Still, hearing that Finn and Quinn were going to be running together for prom king and queen is a blow.

She's not even sure who she's more irritated with. Finn is her boyfriend (fiancé, partner,  _whatever_ ) regardless of that fact that lately she's felt more like a prop. And Quinn? She doesn't even know. She just knows that she'd give up everything for Quinn to live, and Quinn always told her she was meant for something more than Lima. That has to count for something even if they are avoiding the topics that hurt.

When she does finally go to prom, she searches for Quinn. To apologize because she knows she's been selfish. To apologize for Finn because he is just a teenaged boy, and Quinn was his date. He shouldn't have been there with Quinn to begin with, but he certainly should not have left her. Both she and Quinn are hurting, and Finn? She knows he's a good guy; he wants to help them both. But that doesn't mean he can't do wrong—she knows that to be extremely true (and how long will she keep excusing it, she briefly wonders before shutting down that train of thought). She meets Quinn in the hallway, and she looks beautiful and miserable, like a princess cast out of her castle. And she's so desperate to actually talk to Quinn in that moment, to really talk to her and not these safe, casual conversations they've been having. Their relationship has always been about the truth, for good or ill anyway.

"Do you not understand what you mean to me?" Rachel says. The words fall out of her mouth, but she won't take them back for anything.

Especially when Quinn stops and turns, and settles hazel eyes on her.

When Rachel is crowned prom queen, after her heart stops pounding and she doesn't think a slushy will come flying out of the crowd, she doesn't think about herself or Finn.

She thinks about Quinn.

She thinks about how much this crown meant to her last year, and how much it means to her this year. It's not quite the same, Rachel concludes. Quinn exercised some of those demons from her upbringing, but she also knows Quinn wouldn't run for prom queen without reason either. She catches a glance around Finn's shoulder and there's this  _look_  on Quinn's face. An absolution, a happiness, and a smile held back as if it is released in full force, it'll never go away. And those hazel eyes are on  _her_. Then Finn is turning her, and everyone is still watching them dance so she focuses on the steps. But that look is etched into her memory.

Quinn stands at the microphone, Santana supporting her, and Rachel's the happiest she ever remembers being in a very long time.

She tells Finn she wants to go back home, instead of returning to the hotel room. Kurt and Blaine are more than grateful (though she has no idea what became of Puck and Becky). Finn is upset when she merely kisses him goodnight.

"Come on Rach, we were just crowned prom queen and king! It's the perfect night."

There's any number of things she can say in response—things all wrapped up in Quinn. Instead, she settles on the simplest explanation of all. "I'm sorry, but I'm tired. This night has been crazy, remarkable of course as well, but certainly crazy. I just want to sleep Finn."

He grumbles some more, but lets it go. She owes him nothing, and he's learning. Slowly.

That night, her dreams are still gray.

* * *

She wakes to her phone buzzing on her nightstand the next morning. Her first conscious thought is that she's wasted a whole morning because her clock is reading 10:30 am. Her second is that she just wants to roll over and go back to sleep. She checks her phone instead. It's a text from Kurt.

" _Good morning your royal highness! Thanks again for letting us have the hotel room. You and Finn okay?"_

She guesses he's talking about not spending the night together, but something doesn't quite add up. Kurt's question doesn't have enough levity to just be talking about not sleeping together. She feeds him the same line she told Finn.

" _I was just tired last night. It was an amazing, but stressful evening."_

His reply comes seconds later.  _"So you didn't hear?"_

" _What Kurt?"_ She hurriedly types out. It seems to take Kurt forever to respond.

" _About my brother supposedly nearly attacking Quinn."_

She stares at her phone for a moment, and then calls him. Kurt picks up on the first ring.

"What?" she says before he even gets a chance to say hello.

"I found out last night, straight from Mercedes who swears on our friendship and our status as gossip queens. And before you claim girl who cried drama, Sam also said the same thing."

Rachel stares at her ceiling. The familiar off-white color is relaxing, familiar. "Okay, I need details Kurt because from what I'm understanding right now is that Finn attempted to attack Quinn who is still in a wheelchair and has only just gotten her strength back to stand."

"Alright, here's what I know. Quinn and Finn were dancing with nothing amiss, but then they started talking. Finn raised his voice, Quinn said something back, and then he jumped toward her. Joe was there to push him back."

Right then, Rachel finds that she actually genuinely likes Joe. At the other end, she can't wrap her head around the fact that Finn actually did what Kurt is describing.

"Rachel?" Kurt prompts.

"Yes, sorry, I'm here. Um…" She doesn't want to talk about  _Finn_. Not when she's still trying to come to grips with it. Not with the sick feeling settling into her stomach. So she changes topics to something else that puzzled her right before falling asleep last night. "Kurt, don't you think it's kind of strange I was crowned prom queen via  _write-in_. These kind of things don't happen."

"No one seemed astounded. They were taken aback, because I mean, it was up against Quinn and Santana, but then everyone seemed generally happy for you. McKinley hasn't been terrible to us this year."

"Quinn and Santana. These kind of things don't happen."

"They did count the votes Rachel," Kurt says.

"They did," Rachel says slowly. Santana and Quinn counted the votes. They alone had access to see the actual winner. "I'll talk to you later Kurt."

She gets up out of bed and goes through her morning ritual. She paces while brushing her teeth. She would pace while washing her face if she could. Then she paces some more as she stares at her phone, contemplating her choice.

Finn or Quinn?

Quinn.

She answers on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Quinn, good morning. I apologize for calling before noon. I admit I am unfamiliar with your sleeping habits and realize that you may be the type to sleep as late as possible on the weekends especially considering that last night was prom. Thank you for answering—"

"Rachel," Quinn cuts in, and there's some exasperation to her voice. "Good morning. I wouldn't have answered if I didn't want to."

"Yes, that does make sense. I guess I'll just get to the point…" Rachel says, and then she takes a breath, nervous. "Would you like to have lunch with me?"

There's a pause on the other end of the phone, and Rachel holds her breath. Then, "Sure."

"Excellent!" Rachel says, trying to avoid letting loose a happy squeal. "Would you like to come over here? Or should I come to you? We could also go out if you would like."

"My mother is out so I'm without a ride. Whatever you want to do is fine."

"How about we go out?" Rachel says, deciding maybe it would be better for both of them if they were in neutral territory.

"Like I said, whatever is fine."

Rachel smiles brightly. "Okay, I'll pick you up at 12:30."

"Bye."

Quinn hangs up before Rachel can respond. She sets her phone to the side and stares at the crown sitting proudly on her vanity desk. Her thoughts race. Quinn. NYADA. Prom. Finn. And her dreams, forever it seems, in gray.

She doesn't know what she's doing anymore.

* * *

She gets to Quinn's right at 12:30. She squeezed in some time on her elliptical, hoping it would chase away her thoughts. She spent the rest of the morning rushing to get ready after letting time slip away from her. It was surprisingly easy to get lost in the rhythm and whirl of the machine despite the fact that she lacks a goal posted for motivation.

She hears Quinn shout after the chime of the doorbell ends. "It's open!"

Rachel twists the knob, and walks into the impressive Fabray home. She's never been inside before, and it's an intimidating place. It's dark. Dark wood, dark furniture, dark artwork.

Quinn is rolling toward her before Rachel gets much of a chance to process it.

"Your home is nice."

"It's a mausoleum," Quinn says dryly. "But Russell never put up a fuss about mom keeping it, and changing decorations is low on her list of priorities."

"It is a little dark and formal," Rachel admits. "But still very nice!"

Quinn arches an eyebrow, but moves on. "Ready to go?"

"Yes. After you," Rachel says, gesturing past her. "Is that café on Vine Street okay?"

Quinn rolls out the front door with practiced ease. She waits for Rachel to close the door behind her and then holds up the keys. "Mind locking it?"

"Of course not," Rachel says, taking the keys from her. She's hyperaware of her fingers grazing Quinn's hand.

Quinn turns and takes the temporary plywood ramp down off the front porch as Rachel locks the door. When Rachel turns around, Quinn is at her car and slowly pulling herself up into a standing position. Even after last night, Rachel never thought the simple act of standing could be so beautiful.

Realizing she's staring, Rachel hurries down from the porch. "Can I help?"

"No," Quinn says between clenched teeth. "I need to do this on my own."

Quinn gets the car door open and slides in to the passenger seat. It's more of a collapse, but she does it, smiling breathlessly. Rachel finds herself smiling back at her. "That's amazing Quinn!"

"I do need some help though," Quinn says, her smile breaking as she looks down at her lap. "Could you put the chair in your trunk?"

"Not a problem," Rachel says. Folding the chair and getting it into the trunk is not exactly the easiest task, but she gets it done.

Rachel drives as carefully as possible on her way to Vine Street. There's a quiet tension in the car, but neither of them break it. She steals a glance at Quinn when stopped at a light. Quinn stares out the window, her profile golden from the sun.

"It's amazing that you can stand and walk again," Rachel finally says.

"It feels like recovery is taking me forever," Quinn says quietly. "But the doctors and my physical therapist tell me that my speed of recovery considering the extent of my injuries is unheard of. Miraculous even."

"Wow, that's—that's great!" Rachel exclaims. The word "miraculous" burns in her mind.

"Yeah, it is. I guess someone is looking out for me after all."

Rachel swallows and thinks about her dreams in gray. "Did they give you a timeline for when you'll be back at full strength?"

"If I keep up my current pace, I'll be ready in time for Nationals. But I…" She pauses, and Rachel waits, mentally urging her to continue. "Some days it hurts so much, I just don't know. I can stand and walk a bit, but I'm a long way off from dancing."

"You'll make it. You're so strong Quinn," Rachel says thickly, and she means every word.

"I don't know about that," Quinn says softly. Rachel wishes more than anything that she knew what was going on inside Quinn's head "I think I would have done a lot of things differently if I was as strong as you think I am."

"I know there's no one quite like you, and I meant what I said last night," Rachel says as she pulls into a parking spot.

"You're the one who's going to make it, Rachel. I've never doubted that."

Rachel's glad she has the car in park because her throat is abrudptly tight and there's a pressure on her chest. "I'm  _not_."

Then Quinn is leaning over the center console and taking her right hand. "It's not over, Rachel. NYADA isn't the end all be all. Apply next year or—"

"I can't! There's no way they would ever consider me again! I had one opportunity, and I utterly failed. It's time. It's time I moved on. Dreams are dreams for a reason."

"You're not meant for Lima," Quinn says quickly, adamantly. "Everyone knows it. There's a reason you were voted prom queen Rachel."

"That's not true," Rachel says. "I don't think our peers care about me or where I'm going. Not when they have somebody like you to vote for. Quinn, did I really win?" When Quinn looks away for a moment, it's all the confirmation she needs. "Oh my…you… You really did make me prom queen."

They sit in silence, and neither one of them moves. Rachel stares at Quinn, who refuses to meet her gaze.

"You deserved it," Quinn says after a moment, still not looking at her. Her head is held high, her jaw tight, and Rachel finds nothing but sincerity in her voice. "It wasn't a pity vote. You deserved it."

Rachel looks down into her lap, feeling her cheeks heat up. "That's one of the most amazing things anyone has ever done for me."

"You're not disappointed?" Quinn says robotically like she's expecting the worst.

"No. Not all."

And she really isn't. Rachel looks back at Quinn and realizes, in fact, it means all the more.

"Shall we?" Quinn prompts with a small, tight smile.

Rachel bites her bottom lip to hold back her own grin and quickly jumps out of the car. By the time she wrestles the chair out of the trunk, Quinn is standing outside, leaning against the car for support. She settles into the chair with a relieved sigh.

Rachel hesitates just behind Quinn. "Would you—Can I—Do you—"

"You can," Quinn says, and there's a hint of a smile in her voice.

Rachel takes the handlebars on the back of Quinn's chair, and pushes her inside. They're quickly seated. After placing their orders, Quinn leans forward, hazel eyes narrowed on her.

"Rachel, how old are you?"

Rachel furrows her brow, confused as why Quinn's asking when she knows perfectly well how old she is. "18."

"Do you realize how young that is? I've had a lot of time to think the past month. When things were going bad with the recovery, when I spent so much time just lying in a bed, I just had to remember that I'm only 18, and there is so much time left for me."

Rachel can almost hear the secondhand ticking all over again during Quinn's words. "That's a good way of putting things into perspective," she says.

"The point is—it's not over Rachel. You're 18. You have so much time. You're going to make it out of here, and take over New York."

"It's over Quinn. I had my chance," Rachel says. She feels small. Inadequate. Defeated.

"You're giving up? Just like that?"

"It's not giving up. It's being realistic," Rachel says defensively.

"What's your plan then?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are you going to do after we graduate now that you're not going to NYADA? What are your backup schools?"

"Backup schools?"

"Rachel, you did apply to other schools besides NYADA right?"

"I… no."

Quinn closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Rachel fidgets, drawing in on herself, feeling very much the child. A moment later Quinn speaks again. "Okay, there are still plenty of colleges out there that you can go to. I know there has to be some that are still accepting students, and maybe there are some good schools out there that take late applications too. Going to NYADA is not the only way to make it to Broadway."

"NYADA's the best," Rachel says.

"It is. But it's not the only one. There are so many schools with fantastic drama and music departments. You still can make it."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Rachel says firmly.

"Rachel, you're smart and talented. Be yourself. You can make it happen. You certainly don't belong here. What have your dads been doing this whole time? Letting you get married, not checking up on your plans for after high school—"

"You're the last person to talk about having good parents," Rachel snaps and immediately regrets it.

Quinn raises her head, lips pursed together and eyes cold. It's a look that Rachel hasn't seen directed at herself in some time, and it's worse now than it ever was then.

"I'm not hungry anymore. I'll call Santana for a ride home," Quinn says stiffly, wheeling herself back from the table.

"Wait!" Rachel says, jumping to her feet and taking quick strides to catch up. Quinn doesn't stop rolling away, but Rachel would never grab her chair to stop her. It would break everything to try to restrain Quinn who values her autonomy so much. Instead, she pleads with words, not caring that she's making a scene. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm just… I'm  _lost_. And I don't know what to do anymore."

Quinn stops, and she turns back around with a guarded stare.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel says, aware of just how desperate she sounds. "That was way over the line and not fair to you at all. It's certainly not true either. I let my emotions get the better of me, but it would make me so happy if you rejoined me for lunch."

"Okay," Quinn says.

"Okay." Rachel realizes they must look silly standing there in the middle of the restaurant, but she doesn't move until Quinn does and she doesn't sit until Quinn's situated.

"I got carried away too," Quinn says quietly.

"No, you didn't. You were telling me everything I needed to hear. It's just…my dads do love me you know?"

"I know," Quinn says. She pauses. Then, "My mom is better too."

Rachel nods her head. They don't talk about NYADA or prom or about anything that matters the rest of lunch. She worries that her moment of weakness has set them back, but that night, she checks her inbox before bed and finds an email from Quinn.

The subject line reads: "Some things you might want to check out." The body contains about a dozen links to a variety of different colleges all of which are still accepting applicants. At the bottom of the email, there's an additional line of text.

"I know it's hard, but I believe in you. Be yourself, and everything will work out," Rachel reads aloud. She slumps at her desk, reading the line over and over again. She finds herself staring at Finn's engagement ring on her finger. She thinks about how everything spiraled out of control. She thinks about how young she is. She thinks about being herself.

She takes off the engagement ring.

* * *

Breaking up with Finn isn't easy, but it feels like the first  _right_  thing she's done in a long time.

Glee is exceedingly awkward the week following the breakup, but (like her failed audition) it gets a little bit better each day. Nationals creeps closer and closer so there is hardly anytime to relax or become inattentive either (she is determined to make sure Mr. Schuester stays focused). She may not have NYADA any more, but that's no reason not to pour her all into her final glee performance. In fact, it gives Rachel even more motivation to make sure it all goes perfect. One last hurrah.

Rachel also watches as Quinn gets closer and closer to full mobility until one day, she arrives at school not in her chair, but with a cane. She's slow to stand and her gait is considerably limited, but she's still making it to class on two feet. Rachel catches her wincing in their AP Psychology class, but that doesn't seem to stop Quinn's smile either.

During lunch, Rachel tracks down Quinn in the auditorium after she doesn't see her at the usual lunch table. Quinn sits just inside the door, legs stretched out and head tilted back, resting against the seat. Her eyes are closed, and Rachel almost turns around to let her have some peace when Quinn speaks, startling her. "20 bucks says that whoever is standing behind me is Rachel Berry."

Rachel harrumphs, putting her hands on her hips. "Forget that I ever wanted to check up on you."

Quinn smiles and then opens her eyes. "Thanks. I'm just tired. Who knew walking from class to class would be so exhausting?"

Rachel sits down in the seat next to her. "You're not in any pain are you?"

"It's a little more uncomfortable than normal…" Quinn says. Rachel gives her a look, and Quinn quickly amends her answer. "Fine. It's a lot more painful than normal, but I have meds to help get me through the day."

"Don't those make you drowsy?"

"Yep," Quinn says. "Hence why I'm in here trying to get some peace and quiet." Her tone is still light and jovial and nothing close to how Quinn sounds when she's upset so Rachel figures she's in the clear.

"You're amazing, you know? Coming back from the accident like you have."

"Well the doctors say the same thing," Quinn says. "If they keep going on about how miraculous and quick my recovery is, I might start to develop a god complex."

"Considering that you are still a practicing Christian I highly doubt that."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Rachel, it's joke."

"I-I know that. Anyway, you'll be up and dancing again before you know it. I have no doubt you'll be ready for Nationals."

Quinn makes a vague noise of affirmation in the back of her throat, and her gaze centers entirely on Rachel. "I know things have been difficult and you've made some…um…changes already, but have you thought anything more about next year?"

It's the first time Quinn has brought up Rachel's plans for after high school in person since their lunch date. Rachel has received emails here and there from Quinn with links to other schools and programs. Those emails mean everything.

"I've looked into a few places," Rachel says. She stares at the stage of the auditorium. "None of them seem right."

"I know they're not NYADA or even New York, but you can be a star, Rachel, regardless of where you go to school. Broadway is waiting for you."

Silence falls between them. Rachel is without words, but her thoughts howl. Quinn's "miraculous" recovery, her failure, the gray dreams. And Quinn is urging her forward even still.

"You can always transfer too," Quinn says after a few moments. "That's a very real possibility, especially if you keep your grades up. I know most of the elite programs have strict deadlines so going this fall is out, but people transfer schools all the time. It doesn't have to be NYADA. There's Tisch and Juilliard, and so many other places. You're meant for it Rachel. And I'll keep saying that until you believe me. Don't resign yourself to be like  _them_."

"Okay," Rachel says meekly. She can't bring herself to tell Quinn that she  _has_  resigned herself to it, and she doesn't have the energy to explain why. It was a child's dream. It's time to grow up. Broadway is unpractical. Nonsensical even. She had her one chance, and  _it's over_. There's nothing of it left. But even as her mind holds these thoughts, there's a pinprick against her heart. It's bright, and colorful, and so far from gray, and it's telling her that maybe Quinn's right.

* * *

It's also terrifying, Rachel later finds. Even when she applies to schools that she is nearly positive she will get in based off her academic and extracurricular record. Rejection and failure are effective paralyzing agents.

She only applies to a couple of schools, and she feels close to hyperventilating each time she presses send on the online applications. Her dads say nothing but supportive things, even when she ultimately asks them if it's okay if she lives at home next year while taking classes at OSU at Lima. She declares a communications major because even though they have a theater department—it's too much.

That puncture of hope and color from Quinn was wonderful, but also, for some reason, everything wrong. She contents herself with small steps. She has a plan for next year.

Before she knows it, they're leaving for Nationals, and Quinn is  _dancing_.

Standing backstage, Rachel can't keep her eyes off her during the performance. She's beautiful, and Rachel's heart swells just watching her. And when Rachel takes the stage, it's with gusto and exuberance. It's dynamic, and everything she forgot performing was.

She comes down from the high quickly afterwards. Inconsequential again. She had her chance, but it doesn't stop her from remembering what it's like.

Quinn hugs her backstage. She picks her up even, swinging her around. Rachel protests, worrying about Quinn's back, but she laughs all the same.

They don't have to drive home till tomorrow so that night they party in the one of the boys' hotel rooms. Rachel doesn't ask where they got the alcohol. Puck puts on some music that's more bass than lyrics. It doesn't take long before Brittany and Santana are grinding together in one corner and Mike and Tina are making out in another. Rachel tries to keep an eye on Quinn, who looks exhausted. She's settled on top of one of the beds, leaning back against the headboard, eyes barely open.

Rachel flits about, making herself have a goodtime. Finn corners her at some point. He's largely been avoiding her until now so it's kind of a surprise. She can tell he's been drinking excessively. He places a heavy hand on her shoulder, leaning in close. "Rach you were so good up there. It's not too late for us."

"Finn...it is. It's better this way for both of us," Rachel says as compassionately as possible. She pushes his hand off her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I really am. But one day you'll be glad this happened."

To her horror, Finn looks like he's about to cry. Puck thankfully, spots their confrontation and intervenes. "Come on dude, Sam challenges you to shotgunning a beer. I put money on him, he's got that huge mouth, but you can at least try."

Finn shrugs him off. "I don't think I'll ever be glad. I miss you."

"Neither of us knows what we want or where we're going. We're not in a place to be in a relationship," Rachel says.

Finn stares at her, his eyes glazed and vacant. "I don't understand."

Puck gets in between her and Finn this time, shoving a can of beer into his hand. "Dude, don't embarrass yourself. Sam's waiting."

Finn sends one last look at her and then trudges over to Sam, speaking at twice his normal volume. Rachel grabs Puck's arm before he joins them. "Thank you Noah."

"Any time jewbabe. I know you have your reasons, but you messed him up pretty good. Remember that," Puck says.

"I do," Rachel says solemnly, but Puck is already turning around and yelling something about shotgunning. The thing is, she knows she's messed up too.

She turns back around to check on Quinn only to see that she no longer occupies her spot on the bed. She's nowhere else in the room, and Brittany and Santana are now occupying the bathroom. Rachel grabs Mercedes and Kurt's attention who are sitting at the foot of the bed Quinn had occupied. "Did Quinn leave?"

"Yeah, she mumbled something about sleeping and walked out. Girl looked beat," Mercedes replies.

"Thanks," Rachel says, and then hurries out of the room, ignoring the pointed looks from Mercedes and Kurt in turn.

She marches down the quiet hallway, back to the room she shares with Quinn, Brittany and Mercedes (Ms. Pillsbury insisted that Brittany and Santana be housed in separate rooms much like Kurt and Blaine). When she opens the door, Quinn is just exiting the bathroom, clad in her sleepwear.

"Come to check up on me?" Quinn says.

Caught, and without any other excuse, Rachel says, "Yes. I was worried about you." She tries to keep her eyes steady on Quinn's face, but she finds gaze wandering across the curve of Quinn's shoulder down the crafted lines of her upper arm, and over to the swell of her breasts beneath her cotton tank—Rachel quickly jumps her sight back to Quinn's face.

"I'm fine. I took some of my leftover heavy pain medication so I'm pretty tired."

"You didn't drink anything did you?"

"Of course not! I'm not stupid," Quinn snaps. Then she sighs. "Sorry, I'm just tired. I know that's not much of an excuse."

"No—no it's fine. You were so amazing up there today. What you've been able to accomplish since the accident is inspiring. You looked like you never left the dance floor."

"I wish I felt like that too," Quinn says as she settles down on her side of the bed. Brittany had claimed the same bed as Quinn when they arrived after finding out that she couldn't have Santana. She said she needed a reliable cuddle buddy, and if she couldn't have Santana, it would have to be Quinn. Rachel had a hard time picturing Quinn as a cuddler, but when she woke up that first morning from her gray dreams, she looked over to the other bed to see Brittany and Quinn in a tangle of limbs, blonde hair, and sheets. It was really kind of adorable.

"You'll feel like that too before you know it," Rachel says. She stands awkwardly unsure if she should leave, sit on Quinn's bed, or go to her own. Finally, she takes a seat at the foot of Quinn's bed.

"Yeah, I guess I will," Quinn says. Warmth blossoms somewhere in Rachel's chest at the sight of Quinn's sleepy smile. "It was strange. No matter how quick my recovery was, it felt like it was taking forever. I always had to remind myself how lucky I was. I am."

"Like you once told me, someone somewhere was looking out for you," Rachel says. She's not crazy enough to believe she actually changed anything—no matter how many of her dreams had been nothing but an expanse of gray—but she finds a part of her wishing she could be that someone. Quinn's special, she assures herself. Smart, beautiful, and one of her best friends—of course she'd want to be around her.

"Then as someone looking out for you, can I ask if you've given any more thought about next year?" Quinn says.

Rachel looks down at the floor. She hadn't told Quinn her decision because even if it's a step forward, it's miniscule. She can't help but feel ashamed.  _How the mighty have fallen_ , she thinks. She really is one  _them_  now, and to speak it aloud to Quinn who tells her she's meant for more only makes it truer. She answers nonetheless. "I'll be taking classes at OSU at Lima in the fall."

There's no ridicule. Instead, Quinn sits up and touches her arm. "Rachel, that's good. It's progress. You'll make it."

Rachel feels the familiar constriction in her chest and throat, and she knows the tears are coming. She wishes she knew from where—she thinks they would be so much easier to stop if she knew their source. But she has her failure, her doubt, no future, and she has  _Quinn_. It's probably all of them. She tries to hold the tears back, but she chokes on a sob. Her shoulders shake. "It's not  _fair_ ," she cries even as an arm wraps itself around her. "I'm not who I thought I was. I'm not who you think I am."

There's a gentle shushing in her ear and a hand stroking her hair. The arms around her and the body against her are soothing. When the sobs begin to subside, and she finally comes out of herself, she feels Quinn's forehead resting against the back of her shoulder and hears a faint murmuring chant of "I'm sorry."

Quinn seems to sense that her tears are drying because she separates herself, leaving Rachel alone on the bed. She comes back a second later, clutching tissues, which Rachel is grateful to take off her hands. Quinn sits back down beside her, staring at her hands.

"I'm not very good at this," she says after a beat.

"No, you were. That was very nice of you. I appreciate your patience especially considering your exhaustion," Rachel says. It was more than nice to be honest. Quinn was warm and secure, and Rachel kind of misses being wrapped up in her arms already.

"I brought it up," Quinn says as Rachel stands to toss the used tissues. Quinn lays back down on her side of the bed. Her heavy eyes appearing once again as the adrenaline that comes with witnessing tears fades.

Rachel sits, resuming her position sitting at the foot of the bed. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. You've been nothing but kind and supportive of me when you've had no reason to be."

"Relationships between people are a two-way street. You can't always be the one digging me out of a dark hole," Quinn says languidly.

"Quinn… I—Are we going to stay in touch? I realize how dreadfully dull I'll be next year stuck in Lima, but I want to hear all about Yale, and everything you're doing," Rachel says. She hopes she doesn't sound too desperate. Or too much like a stalker for that matter.

The sleepy smile is back on Quinn's face, allaying her fears. "I'll be boring too you know. I'll be studying all the time."

"You won't be studying all the time! There are so many quintessential college experiences you will have to participate in!"

"Berry. Shush," Quinn says throatily. She grabs Rachel's arm, pulling her back and down against the bed. Rachel's heart flutters into her throat. "I had enough experiences in high school to last me through college, and I really can't stay awake anymore." She yawns, proving her point. Rachel wonders if she should move, but Quinn has an arm thrown across her midriff. And Quinn was the one to pull her down and beside her in the first place.

"Relax Rachel," Quinn mumbles, almost incomprehensible. "Are you going to be this stiff when you come visit me?"

"Visit you? At New Haven?" Rachel manages to squeak after her surprise wears off. But Quinn's asleep already, breathing soft and even.

Rachel's equally tired, but now her thoughts are full of visiting Quinn at Yale. She's fine until she thinks of the fact that she has nothing to offer in return. It's over for her, and everything about her future is unremarkable gray. That's not what it's supposed to be. That isn't supposed to be her.

But it is.

* * *

The remaining days to graduation pass by in a blink of an eye. She tosses her cap in the air, and just like that, high school is over.

Summer is a sleepy affair. She hangs out with the glee kids, goes shopping with Kurt, and has coffee with Tina. But most of all, she talks to Quinn.

Quinn who is running and dancing and playing. Rachel doesn't think she has ever seen Quinn look so young as she does when wrestling with Santana or teasing Sam at a glee party. She's so full of life and vitality that Rachel's certain if she jumped, Quinn would fly—never to be grounded again. Then Quinn's eyes fall on her, and it takes Rachel's breath away to see her so uninhibited. Quinn never says it to her, but Rachel overheard her talking to Santana at one of their pool parties—"I'm getting out of here, Santana. I still can't believe it."

Quinn's free and alive, and it's enough to sustain Rachel. Still, when they talk, just the two of them, Quinn restrains it all—though her hazel eyes never cloud or darken. Quinn never stops telling her how much she's meant for the world outside Lima.

"You love performing?" Quinn says one day while sitting on the couch watching So You Think You Can Dance or the X-Factor or some other reality competition show—they all blur together after awhile.

"I did," Rachel says simply. It's the truth, no matter how much it hurts to admit it in past tense.

"You do, you mean."

Rachel's quiet for a moment. "Yes."

"Why are you majoring in communications?"

"It's sensible. I can parlay my background in it to careers in many other fields."

"Bullshit," Quinn says, near growling.

"Quinn!"

"Why not do what you love? It took me two seconds to find out that OSU Lima offers a major in theater. Why not try it? I don't understand."

"I've told you before," Rachel says, frustrated, "That part of my life is done. It's over."

"Why do you always talk about it in absolutes?" Quinn says. Her voice rings with frustration. "What about transferring? What about taking a few theater classes? It's not over."

Rachel wishes she could properly explain how everything within her tells her that it is. This is a rehash of so many of their conversations. It's just taken at a new direction. "I'm moving on, Quinn. That's it."

Quinn's jaw tightens. Her hazel eyes gleam. "You were so amazing at Nationals. Everyone knew it. Just because you failed once— _once!—_ doesn't mean you should give up something you love. Promise me you'll at least think about it. Think about that, and how you owned the stage and the whole audience that night in Chicago."

Rachel nods her head because no matter how obstinate she normally is, Quinn is proving just as stubborn.

Before going to bed that night, she thinks about where she was those days after that horrible audition, and where she is now, thanks to Quinn. She clicks on the OSU at Lima's theater department and reads through their pages. She thinks about what Quinn said and thinks about how she felt on that stage in Chicago. Changing her major to theater is hassle free. She sends an email to her advisor, and then quickly closes her laptop suddenly shocked at herself. It was so easy.

So easy to reclaim a tiny part of herself that she thought she had locked away never to think about again.

When she sleeps that night, she dreams of white, then black, and finally it's a return to the ever familiar gray.

It's when she wakes up in the morning that she finds she has a number of texts and missed calls stored on her silenced phone. Perplexed, she reads the first text from Santana, and her world stops.  _"Quinn had some sort of relapse. At the hospital now_.  _Get your ass here Berry."_


	3. Repurpose

"Doctors gave some mumbo-jumbo about a pulmonary embolism. Whatever the fuck that means," Santana says. "We were on the phone, and she made this… _noise_. Said her chest started hurting so I said something stupid about boobs, but then she's gasping for breath and doesn't answer. Scared the shit out of me."

Rachel's heart picks up its pace just hearing the story. "I can only imagine," Rachel says faintly. She feels nauseous. The secondhand on the clock across from the nurses' station moves steadily, seconds slipping by as it circles and circles.

"Britt and I got to her before the paramedics did. She had been coughing up blood," Santana says. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Seeing her on the floor when we came running in… that ranks right up there with the first time I saw her after the accident in things I wish I could fucking forget, but I know will be stuck in my head forever."

"It was scary," Brittany says. "It's a good thing San had to yell at Quinn about unicorns again."

"That's the thing that really pisses me off. With her mom on that church retreat, if I hadn't been on the phone with her right then…" Santana trails off with a shudder, clenching her fists. "And you wouldn't pick up your goddamn phone."

"You need to work your voodoo on Quinn," Brittany says instantly. "Make her better."

"Quinn likes keeping you around for whatever reason. I don't know. Maybe you amuse her so I figured you better be here," Santana grumbles.

"I…  _Thank you_. For calling me," Rachel says. "Quinn's important to me."

"Yeah, well I guess there's apparently a line these days," Santana says, motioning her head toward the door to Quinn's room which Puck, Mercedes, and Sam are currently occupying. Kurt and Blaine had also been in and out with breakfast for everyone.

"Have you talked to her mother?" Rachel asks. "Is she on her way?"

"Yeah, she should be here in a couple of hours. And Christ, motherfucking scary shit," Santana says. The last part is mumbled into her hands. Though she would never use that kind of language, Rachel agrees.

"You didn't learn anything about this…um, pulmonary embolism did you?" Rachel says.

"Didn't think about it," Santana mumbles. "Stupid I know."

"Oh! I know! It's a blood clot that travels around and around until it ends up in your lungs!" Brittany says.

"Britt, how do you know that?" Santana says perplexed.

"I read Quinn's chart," Brittany says. "It's all there. You just have to connect the big words to the small words and it all starts making sense."

"Have I ever told you how smart you are?" Santana says. She smiles. It's weak, but it's still a smile. Brittany returns it, and Rachel kind of wishes they had gotten together much sooner because Santana's a lot nicer with a girlfriend on her arm.

Sam and Mercedes walk out then, and Rachel quickly takes their place in the room because Santana and Brittany are making eyes at each other. She's relieved to see Quinn isn't as pale as the first time she saw her after the accident. It's even more of a relief to see Quinn's eyes open and a small smile appear on her lips when Rachel walks in.

"Thank goodness," Quinn says weakly. She coughs, and Rachel winces. "Thought I was going to be stuck with Puck."

"Nice rhyme there Qball," Puck says, smiling.

" _Quinn_ ," Rachel says, heart somewhere in her throat, "...I'm sorry I'm late. I should have thought to bring flowers as well so I apologize for not having them with me, but I got so distracted. I called Santana as soon as I heard, and then I was in such a panic to get here even though she said you were doing better now."

"'s okay," Quinn rasps.

"You're okay?" Rachel says. She feels the bought of tears coming, and struggles to fight them off. Seeing Quinn in the hospital bed brings up a number of dreadful memories.

"I'm okay. Glad you're here."

Rachel allows herself a sigh of relief then. "Good. You are no longer allowed to scare me like that. I absolutely forbid it Quinn."

"She scared me enough for everyone," Santana grouses as she walks into the room with Brittany in tow. "Who do you keep pissing off so much to end up in the hospital?"

As Puck, Santana, and Brittany carry on a conversation teasing Quinn about her possible sins that would have landed her in the hospital (like going to the movies with Rachel last week and not inviting anyone else), Rachel picks up the chart at the end of Quinn's bed. It's almost impossible for her to understand even after gaining more medical knowledge than she ever wanted to learn the last time Quinn was in the hospital. After a minute of perusing the contents, her eyes finally settle on something that she can understand. At the bottom of the page, in barely legible scrawl, a doctor left a few notes:  _Extremely rare PE; patient is active and healthy considering recovery from severe trauma obtained in Feb._

The notes leave her puzzled, and when Rachel does get home late that evening, she opens up her laptop to see if she can learn more. She makes an educated guess that PE stands for the pulmonary embolism that Santana mentioned. It doesn't take her long to find some facts that—when stacked up to Quinn's condition—are rather disturbing. Brittany was right that pulmonary embolisms are blood clots that block up the main artery in the lung. What Rachel didn't know earlier was that they tend to occur in patients that have altered blood flow—like being immobilized for long periods of time because of surgery or injury.

That would have fit Quinn  _months_  ago. But not now. Not after so much time has passed.

Rachel swallows her unease, her fear because Quinn's okay now. She'll even be going home tomorrow. Quinn will just have to keep to her medication regimen, and Rachel will be sure to make sure she does.

Rachel closes her laptop and crawls in bed. Sleep comes quickly, and when it does, her dreams are once again gray.

* * *

Rachel wakes early the morning Quinn is set to leave for New Haven. There's an empty pit in her stomach that doesn't fill with her breakfast. She takes her time getting ready, carefully choosing her outfit. She generally finds it important to always look her best, but today, none of her clothes seem to work toward that purpose. Frustrated, she finally goes with a simple skirt and top combination. It'll just have to do.

She grabs the Tupperware full of cookies that she made the night before and heads out the door. It's miserably humid out, but she would take all the mugginess in the world if that meant she could pack up her car for New York right now. It still hurts after all this time, some days worse than others. She has a plan for now, and today is about Quinn, so she pushes New York and Broadway from her mind. She finds herself speeding to Quinn's and has to mentally remind herself to slow down.

When she arrives, Rachel finds Quinn loading her mother's SUV. Quinn smiles when she sees her, and the pit in Rachel's stomach is momentarily forgotten.

"Oh no no no, you did not bring me cookies," Quinn says. "They're not going to last the day."

Rachel watches Quinn wipe her brow with her forearm, mesmerized by the simple action and the gleam of sweat shining on her skin. "I find it appropriate to send someone I care for off on a journey with provisions."

"I guess I have to take them then," Quinn says.

Rachel hands off the Tupperware, and Quinn stashes them below the passenger seat. There's silence, and Rachel can think of a million different things to say, but none of it seems right. Quinn, likewise, fidgets. It's all so dreadfully awkward and far and away different from any of their other interactions during the summer.

"I'm going to—" Rachel says.

"You better—" Quinn also says.

They both stop talking. Quinn blushes, her gaze landing somewhere around Rachel's feet. Rachel's pretty sure her cheeks are also red.

"Go ahead," Rachel says.

"No you go. It wasn't important."

"Really Quinn."

"Don't be difficult."

"Oh this is so stupid," Rachel proclaims. She flies forward, wrapping her arms around Quinn's neck. Quinn makes a quiet noise of surprise, and then she sort of sighs as her arms and hands find purchase to return the hug. Quinn's holding her, and it's all the manner of everything  _right_. It's a waterfall of color and music in her head and heart.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," Rachel says after a moment. She doesn't let go. Not yet. "Don't do anything that pushes your body too hard. Make sure you get enough sleep and eat right. I don't mean to be pushy or clingy, but I hope you know that you are always welcomed to call me at any time about any thing." She continues, unable to stop because maybe she is that selfish, and maybe because she does feel that safe in Quinn's presence. "It's not as if I'll be doing anything terribly valuable with my time."

"Stop it. You  _are_. There's nothing wrong with Ohio State Lima, and I'm proud of you for picking theater. I know it's not a huge stage, but I have no doubt that you'll be the talk of the university after your first production. Before you know it, you'll be in New York."

"I don't understand why you have such confidence in me."

"I've seen you perform Rachel. You're meant for big things. I've always thought that. You know I used to watch your MySpace videos and get so irrationally jealous because I knew you were going to get out of here."

Rachel bites down on the bitter response because that's the last thing she wants to impart on Quinn this morning. Despite her shame at being stuck in Lima, she  _is_  ecstatic for Quinn who she knows always wanted to get out of here as much as she did. Rachel just wishes she could join her.

Quinn finally pulls back from the hug. "You just have to get your confidence back in order to push beyond your comfort zone again, and if Nationals showed me anything, it's that you still have it."

Rachel smiles then, a thought striking her. "If someone had told me three years ago that you would be my biggest supporter—outside of my fathers of course—I would have told them they were crazy."

"Yeah, well, my therapist says expressing myself is one of my problem areas," Quinn says.

Rachel thinks the fact that Quinn can even admit to having a therapist is an advance in the right direction. "I'm so glad you're my friend. I'm going to miss you."

"I'm just a phone call away. And you are still going to come visit me?" Quinn says. There's a bit of hesitation and uncertainty in her voice.

Quinn really does want her to come to New Haven, Rachel marvels. "Of course! Whenever you want me to!"

"Quinnie! Are you about ready?" Ms. Fabray pokes her head out the front door. "Oh, good morning Rachel," she says politely.

"Good morning Ms. Fabray," Rachel returns.

"A few more minutes mom! There are a couple of things I still need to do," Quinn says.

"Alright, let me know!" Ms. Fabray says and disappears back inside her house.

"Your mother is not helping you pack?" Rachel asks.

"Oh she  _has_. She's been a little…overbearing…the past couple of weeks so I told her I could load up the car on my own. And before you scold me about my back, she already lectured me, and I will tell you as I told her, I'm fine."

"Okay. You'll be careful, right? And not just with moving everything around," Rachel says.

"I will."

"You're going to be brilliant Quinn."

"You will too."

Quinn hugs her again, and this time, it feels final. Rachel is left behind, but Quinn is alive in every sense of the word. Rachel wouldn't have it any other way.

"Bye," Quinn whispers into her hair.

Rachel shivers and has to tell herself to let go. She hurries to her car. She can't spend another moment looking at Quinn because she knows she'll come undone. The empty pit in her stomach is back, and it's all too much. Exhilaration and happiness for Quinn. Wretchedness for herself. And something between them she wishes she could name.

She allows herself one final glance out of her car's window. Quinn stands, beautiful and frozen like a marble statue, watching her.

Rachel somehow manages to get home before tears overtake her.

* * *

Classes are relatively easy—at least, they're easier than she expected. She keeps in touch with Kurt, Tina, and some of the others. But most of all, she talks with Quinn. It's not the same as being with her in person, but she makes do even though the empty pit in her gut only seems to get bigger each time she hangs up the phone. She makes plans to visit Quinn at New Haven the last weekend of September. Her dads even pay for her plane ticket, which is much more than she was expecting. Based off some of their comments however, she realizes they're hoping it will inspire her.

She's been avoiding thinking too far ahead into the future. She hasn't even looked at other programs yet, despite Quinn's insistence.

She flies from Dayton to New Haven's tiny domestic airport, and Quinn is there, smiling and beautiful. Rachel is in her arms as soon as she breaks free of the terminal.

"Quinn! I'm so happy to see you! You look great! How are you doing? Are classes going okay? I'm totally prepared to let you do as much work as you need to this weekend so that you'll be ready for next week."

Quinn laughs, and it's light and airy and free. "Slow down, Rachel. We just talked last night."

"Right. My apologies. I'm just… I'm really excited to be here."

After dropping her bag off at the dorm, Quinn takes her on a tour around campus. Yale is even better than she imagined, and she finds her emotions once again battling between unbridled joy and sickening despair. She feels only slightly unhinged by it now—the experience is unfortunately a familiar one.

Quinn takes her to a party that night. It's at a frat house, and that automatically makes Rachel a little anxious based off what she knows from TV and the Internet. Quinn assures her that it's fine and that these guys are okay. And it  _is_  fun. Rachel refrains from drinking—too nervous that she'll embarrass herself or, worse, Quinn—and she makes sure to follow all the rules her dads lectured her on a long time ago about parties.

For example, "Quinn don't put your drink down! What if someone put a foreign substance in it while you were turned away?"

Quinn merely arches an eyebrow and says, "I'm done with it."

"Oh. Would you like me to get you another?"

Quinn licks her lips, her gaze hot. "No. And I would get it myself. What I really want to do is dance."

"Well there are plenty of male specimens that have been eyeing you the entire evening. I'm sure anyone of them would be happy to accompany you on the dance floor." She regrets it as soon as she says it. Something underneath her skin itches at that thought of Quinn with any of these boys. "...not that I would exactly call this dancing."

"It takes a little bit of skill," Quinn says. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. "Come on, dance with me?"

Rachel's response gets lodged somewhere in the back of her throat, and she's certain her eyes have widened to twice their normal size. She settles for a sharp nod instead.

Quinn's face does that thing where she's trying not to smile, but Rachel can see it painted across her lips and eyes anyway. Rachel's the one to move first, taking Quinn's hand and leading her to the foyer of the house that's doubling as a dance floor. They squeeze in between other gyrating couples and groups. Quinn moves subtly to the beat as they walk, her hips swaying back and forth. Rachel suddenly wishes she had more to drink as they make a spot for themselves.

"I know you know how to move Rach. I very clearly remember you dancing to 'Push It' with my boyfriend at the time."

"Oh so you were watching me?" Rachel says. She makes sure to grin in order to show Quinn she's joking. Just as Quinn opens her mouth to respond, Rachel is pushed forward into her. It isn't malicious—just the people moving and dancing behind her losing their sense of space. Quinn steadies her, arms around her waist. Rachel looks up to find Quinn glaring over her shoulder at the couple behind her.

"You okay?" Quinn asks, looking down at her after a moment with obvious concern.

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

"You sure?"

"Yes Quinn, see—" she picks up on the beat, allowing her body to sink into it. "I can move just fine."

"Y-Yes. I can tell."

With the press of bodies around them, there's really nowhere else to go so she settles into dancing right up against Quinn. And when Quinn starts to move back, Rachel tells herself it's just the heat of the bodies around her that is making everything warm. It's easy to get lost in the feel of Quinn, and the way their bodies move against each other. Rachel twists her arms up as the music crescendos and when she lets them fall, they come to rest naturally around Quinn's neck. And when Quinn's jean clad thigh slips in between her legs, it feels just as instinctual and  _right_.

Rachel forgets everything for a while. The only thing that exists is herself, Quinn, and the music.

But the night has to end. The foyer begins to empty, and no doubt the keg and cooler full of pinkish-red party juice are close to dry. They dance on for a little while longer, and Rachel's only vaguely aware of the fact that there is space enough for them to separate. They stay together regardless. Eventually, they stumble outside after Quinn says her goodbyes to a few friends. It's only when Rachel hits the cool fall air that she feels the heat burning inside and on her skin.

They walk back together, and Rachel hums, heart and head full of something that's more visceral than just happiness and despair. Quinn's arm brushes hers, once, twice, and Rachel looks over. Quinn's looking down at the ground, but her hand draws itself over hers. Rachel doesn't hesitate to take Quinn's hand into her own any longer. Her face heats up as Quinn smiles shyly in response, and Rachel thinks that Quinn really is  _alive_  here at Yale—free from Lima, free from all the social expectations, free to just be herself. And again, Rachel thinks that she would surrender everything for Quinn to forever have that.

Rachel falls asleep in Quinn's bed in Quinn's arms, but even though there's a hint, a touch, a sense of color, her dreams are still gray.

* * *

The next day, they lounge around with Quinn's roommate, Dharmi, watching TV and gossiping about celebrities during the late morning. Later, they head toward town, swinging by the bookstore on their way back from having lunch. Quinn buys a Yale sweatshirt. It's only when she hands the bag over does Rachel realize it's meant for her.

"Quinn, no! Please let me pay you back," Rachel says.

"No."

"That's totally not fair. I didn't get you anything."

"You're my guest."

"Yes, but as a guest, I should be the one presenting the host with a gift as a showing of my gratitude if we're actually going that route."

"Well, as a gift to me, I have something to show you when we get back to the dorm. Promise me that you'll give it some attention?"

"Of course," Rachel says. Her mind races, wondering what in the world Quinn could mean. Thankfully, it's a short trip back to the dorm.

Dharmi is gone, leaving them alone. Rachel's heart pounds. Her blood runs hot. Her eyes are on Quinn, the curve of her body, the straight line of her jaw. She tells herself to get a grip—she's being ridiculous.

"Give me just a second…" Quinn says as she pulls out her laptop. After a moment, she pats the bed beside her. "Alright, come here. Let's go through this together."

Rachel gingerly sits down next to her. Her heart drops when she figures out the website Quinn has pulled up. NYU's Tisch School of the Arts.

"I figure that we could go through Tisch and Juilliard today. I've already done a bit of research, and Tisch has a two-part application process. There's the basic online application, and there's the artistic review. The drama department offers four types of artistic review auditions, one of which is in music theatre. If we start now—"

"Quinn, stop," Rachel says quietly.

"If we start  _now_ ," Quinn says resolutely, "between the two of us, I think we can figure out some pretty good audition pieces."

"Why do you care so much?" Rachel says.

Quinn gives her a look and continues. "There's four parts to the artistic review for music theatre, and it sounds fairly intensive. There's an acting component, a singing one, then a dance one, and finally an interview."

"Why do you care?" Rachel says, raising her voice. It's the only thing she can do with her heart seizing in her chest and her vision swimming in gray.

Quinn's jaw tightens. "I get that you were hurt Rachel, that everything you believed in was ruined. But you have to try again. You're meant for so much."

"My time is over. I failed. I don't have my dream anymore!" Rachel says. Yells. She's not even sure if her words make sense.

"It doesn't have to be over! I don't know how many times I have to say it! I can't help you if you're not going to help yourself." Quinn's voice starts strong and loud only to soften to a pained whisper.

Everything tells her to say 'no.' Everything except that pinprick of color somewhere around her heart. And for a moment, that's enough.

"Okay."

* * *

With Quinn's encouragement, Rachel thinks she can do this. The first step is trying out for a play. Ohio State Lima doesn't really do musicals so she settles for a drama. She's impossibly nervous before hand. She never remembers feeling like this before, but that was  _before_.

She's stuck in a continuous war. So pleased and so happy for Quinn. Despondent for herself. A sliver of hope that maybe her dream isn't entirely out of reach. Resignation to her fate.

These things own her, turning her over and over and over. She's pulled in two directions, and there are times it's nearly physical—like claws digging into her sternum to rip her in half. She dreams of this happening on more than one occasion. Quinn pulls her from each side until she splits down the seam, spilling gray onto the floor. Quinn, warm and alive, holds one half of her in white. Quinn, cold and dead, holds her other half in black. She wakes, shaken, always unable to go back to sleep.

She gets the part for the play on the spot. That night, she dials Quinn, breathless with excitement. She lies on her bed, watching her alarm clock tick by each second and waiting for Quinn to pick up.

"Quinn, I got that part!" Rachel says before Quinn can even squeeze out a hello.

"That's great Rach," Quinn says.

She sounds… off. Rachel immediately sobers. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I've been really sore today, especially the past couple of hours."

The secondhand ticks. Rachel's heart picks up speed. She thinks about Santana on the phone with Quinn when she collapsed. She thinks about Quinn, pale and ashen in the hospital. "Maybe you should go over to campus health just to be sure?"

"No I'm fine. I still have the occasional off day."

"You shouldn't take chances with your health."

"Fair enough. How about compromise? If I still feel bad tomorrow I'll go."

"If you still feel bad in an hour."

"Tomorrow morning."

"First thing?"

"Yes. And I'll let you know. But hey, congrats! I'm really proud of you for giving it a shot. I'm not surprised in the least bit that you were cast. Tell me all about it."

Rachel leaves out the details about her nerves and about how it's  _Lima_  and it's really not anything to get excited about. Quinn's unapologetically enthusiastic for her even if it's a little muted.

After saying their goodbyes and hanging up, Rachel has another thought. She quickly sends a text to Quinn.

" _Your roommate is there tonight correct?"_

Quinn's reply comes seconds later.  _"Yes"_

Rachel breathes a sigh of relief. At least Quinn isn't alone.  _"Okay just checking. Have a good night!"_

When she wakes the next morning, there's already a text waiting for her.  _"I feel much better today. Thanks for looking out for me, Rach. x."_

Her dreams may have still been gray, but the day is bright.

* * *

She's pensive, staring into the dull glow of her laptop screen. A spreadsheet is up listing pros and cons. Three choices. Tisch. Juilliard. Carnegie Mellon. They may not be NYADA, but each one is well respected with dozens of notable alumni. She couldn't go wrong with any of them.

Quinn sits on her bed, home for fall break. She's quiet, but Rachel can feel her gaze on the back of her head.

It's fairly easy to exclude Carnegie Mellon. Pittsburgh is not New York, and it's always been about New York for her. The difficult decision remains. Tisch or Juilliard.

"Juilliard is hallowed ground, but I like the fact that Tisch exists within NYU and they seem to offer more in the ways of music theatre whereas Juilliard I would have to lean toward drama or music," Rachel says. It goes without saying that NYADA really does offer the best in music theater training, but Tisch is a close second. Juilliard is  _Juilliard_.

"You could apply to both."

"No, I can't. I really don't think I can do that to myself. I'm scared enough at the prospect of applying to one. It goes against every rational thing I know."

Quinn doesn't push her any further, and for that, she's thankful. She still doesn't know how to explain that most everything within her is screaming that pursuing Broadway is  _wrong_. Everything except that small sliver of color and Quinn telling her it's  _right_.

"I can't tell you who to apply for. That has to be something you do on your own," Quinn says instead.

Rachel studies her spreadsheet. On the very slim chance she actually is accepted, she has to pick the right school. The color in her heart shines brightest on Tisch. She aches then. Not in anguish, but in a flash of hope. "Tisch. It more closely aligns with what I want to do, who I want to be."

She hears movement, and then she feels Quinn behind her. Arms wrap around her shoulders and collarbone, and Quinn leans over, cheek brushing hers, and stares at the screen. "I'm so proud of you."

Rachel brings her hands up, lightly touching Quinn's forearms. "Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you. Any of this. I probably wouldn't have even been able to get it together to attend OSU Lima."

"Don't sell yourself short," Quinn says, pulling back.

Rachel swivels around in her chair, catching Quinn's wrist. "I'm being serious Quinn.  _Thank you_."

Rachel watches as Quinn eyes land on the hand on her wrist and then flick up to her face. In that moment, when their eyes meet, Rachel is certain she can do anything again.

* * *

The next few weeks keep her busier than she's been in a long time. She rises early everyday, shaking off her gray dreams, and hitting her elliptical. She goes to class in the morning and early afternoon. Late afternoon is spent either in rehearsals for the play or studying. Dinner is spent with her fathers, but her nights are claimed by Quinn.

By the time Quinn comes home for Thanksgiving break, the written portion of Rachel's application is polished and ready to be sent with the click of the button. She can sign up for the artistic review portion at any time, but she can't bring herself to finish the process without knowing exactly what she will be performing for each part of the evaluation. She has something in mind for each component, but she wants Quinn's opinion first.

She hears the doorbell and one of her fathers answer it. There are muffled voices, padded footsteps, and then Quinn is in her room, cheeks blooming red from the November chill.

Rachel rises and sweeps her up into a hug. Quinn laughs and the sound settles into Rachel with a flash of color.

Rachel smiles, pulling back from Quinn and taking her in. As always, since she started at Yale, Quinn glows with life and freedom and purpose.

"Hi," Quinn grins.

"Hi," Rachel returns, and then she jumps right into it. "So I'm pretty much all set to submit my application, but before I do, I'm hoping you'd listen to my monologues and tell me what you think? I'm fairly comfortable with my ability to choose my song selection—performing it of course is another matter—but I carry a little more doubt with my ability to select monologues for the acting portion."

"Of course I don't mind listening," Quinn says. "But I'm sure whatever you selected is just fine."

"Alright, take a seat right there and—"

Quinn's phone chimes. Quinn scowls, picking it out of her purse. "Sorry. This idiot won't leave me alone."

"That's okay," Rachel says quietly. Quinn is practically smashing the screen of her phone as she responds. "Is he bothering you?"

"Yes," Quinn says angrily under her breath. "He's not catching on to the fact that I've told him repeatedly that I already have someone I'm interested in."

"You do?" Rachel says. Her stomach flip-flops and twists before finally bottoming out. She's not quite sure when she got on a roller coaster.

Quinn looks up, eyes wide. She visibly swallows, her lips parting. "Yes. I do."

Silence settles between them. Rachel's fairly certain her heartbeat can be heard across the room. She clears her throat and gestures at her desk chair. "Okay. Just take a seat and I'll…um… get right into the monologue."

Quinn brushes past her. Rachel can't keep her eyes off of her.

"Whenever you're ready," Quinn says stiffly.

"I'll perform the dramatic monologue first. Following that, I will take on the comedic one." Rachel takes a deep breath, closing her eyes. She casts  _Rachel_  out of herself and takes in  _Connie_. She opens her eyes and lets the monologue fly from her lips. "If these birds die. If they die, I'll write a poem. I'll call it 'Death of the Birds and the Death of the Bad Poet.' Or maybe just…"

She continues on, infusing every word, every movement with Connie, the character. She's only aware of Quinn because of the intensity of her gaze. She nears the end of the monologue, and it's  _raw_. "…And I try and fight that belief, cause it's in me, it's in my very bones, that I should have been ordinary, should have been a cheerleader and a mother at twenty. That I should have never ever tried to write or draw or reach, that I should ... I should have been sensible and dull and not care so much when baby birds get knocked out of their nests."

Then she breathes, and she's  _Rachel_  again. But for Rachel, it's too close and too much, and she's very aware of the clawing in her chest pulling her both ways. She doesn't realize she's crying until Quinn stands and treads the few steps toward her. Quinn's arms are around her as she sinks to the ground.

She allows herself this moment of selfishness, and allows herself to feel comfort in the embrace. She regains control of herself, and she's rather surprised at how quickly she's able to reclaim her emotions. It's because of  _Quinn_ , she knows.

"I'm sorry," Rachel says. "I didn't mean to lose it."

"I'm pretty sure I told you I suck at being comforting," Quinn says lightly.

Rachel chuckles, wiping at her eyes. "Maybe I'm training you to be better at it?"

She sniffs, and Quinn frowns. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I am. It just hit a little close too home in the moment."

"Hey, you were amazing. Really. I'd accept you on the spot."

"I think you're a little biased."

"Nonsense," Quinn says. She gets up and offers her hand. Rachel gingerly takes it, allowing Quinn to pull her to her feet. "Really, I thought it was brilliant, and I think it would go over really well. You're delivery was very…"

"Honest," Rachel says. Her voice breaks a little, but she maintains control.

"Yes," Quinn says. Hazel eyes search her face, plainly concerned.

The patience Quinn has for her sends a rush of warmth through her blood. Rachel pushes her breakdown past her, wishing she had better mastery over her emotions, but having to settle with showing Quinn she's okay. "Let me go ahead and give the comedic monologue. I promise it won't result in tears."

"Only if you're up for it," Quinn says.

Rachel nods and smiles. "I am."

Quinn leaves a while later, after they share some ice cream and talking about the merits of her song selection. She closes the door behind Quinn after exchanging a hug goodbye, very aware of the smile on her face.

Her dad appraises her from the couch, looking up from his book. "Quinn's a very well-mannered girl these days."

"Yes, she is. She has come a long way from our early tumultuous beginnings."

"Ivy league. Very smart."

"Yes, she is. It's great having someone that can keep up with me intellectually."

"Completely charming."

"Isn't she? It's pretty remarkable considering the home she grew up in."

"And extremely pretty."

Rachel floats toward the stairs. "Prettiest girl I've ever met, but that's not all she is daddy."

He chuckles. "Goodnight Rachel."

Returning to her room, she's grounded back into reality. She opens up her laptop and immediately goes to the Tisch website. Her insides churn.

It's not too late for her to  _not_  apply. Does she really want to put herself on the line again? The answer is a resounding  _yes_  that seems to come in Quinn's voice. She pushes away the gray, accepting the canon of color. She selects Chicago as her choice for the artistic review because it's the closest location to Lima that Tisch will be having them, and she clicks the "submit application" button on her screen.

When she sleeps, her dreams start white only to be overtaken by a tidal wave of black. It mixes together until it returns to gray. There's a scream. She's certain it's Quinn, and she wakes with a jolt to her phone buzzing angrily on her bedside table.

She blinks the bleariness away and fumbles for her phone. It's an unknown number, but something is telling her to answer it anyway.

"Hello," she says sleepily.

"Rachel? I'm sorry to call you at this hour, but I had to take Quinn to the emergency room. I know you two are close so I thought you would want to know," the feminine voice says on the other end. There's a hint of barely controlled panic in the carefully measured words.

Rachel is suddenly very much awake. "Ms. Fabray?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"I'll be right there."

She hangs up the phone and takes a shaky breath in the enveloping darkness of her room. Her heart pounds, and she closes her eyes pushing the panic bubbling up through her stomach, chest, and lungs back down. The secondhand ticks. She's dressed and out of the door of her room in another heartbeat, yelling out to her dads. "Quinn's in the hospital! I'm gone!"

She hears a blurry voice call in response, "Rachel?" But she has no time to wait. They call her as she speeds toward the hospital, and she quickly explains the siutation. She gets an incoming call as she wraps up and hurriedly says goodbye to her dads. It's Santana on the other line.

"I know," Rachel says as she picks up. "I'm on my way."

"Good," Santana responds. "See you there."

* * *

Rachel sits between Ms. Fabray and Santana in the waiting room. Brittany is curled up next to Santana on the other side. The secondhand on the clock over the reception area ticks steadily. Rachel feels each passing second in her blood and bones and soul.

"She came stumbling into my room around 1:00 am. She said my name. The last thing you ever want to hear is your child crying out 'mom' with such pain," Ms. Fabray says softly. "I feel like God's punishing her for my sins."

" _No_ ," Rachel says vehemently. She's not quite sure why she can say that with such confidence. She switches to something comforting. "Quinn is so strong, Ms. Fabray."

"She just has shitty luck or karma or something," Santana says. "Girl got pregnant the first time she had sex and it was shitty sex."

"Santana," Rachel warns. Sleep deprived, stressed Santana is completely without a filter. To her surprise, Ms. Fabray laughs, but it's strained and short and desperate.

" _Peritonitis_. What the fu— _hell_  is that anyway?" Santana says after a moment.

"Inflammation of the tissue lining the abdomen." Brittany says. "Acute versions are fatal if untreated. I looked it up on my phone after you started freaking out at the doctor woman."

"I wasn't freaking out," Santana says, crossing her arms.

"Baby, you did a little bit," Brittany says. She reaches over and grabs Santana's hand, uncrossing her arms for her. "Quinn is going to be okay. Ms. Fabray got her here as soon as she could."

They settle back into silence. The secondhand circles on and the sky begins to lighten outside. Her dads show up with bagels and coffee, providing but a momentary distraction. Finally, the surgeon returns, telling them the surgery was a success, but Quinn will have to be carefully monitored for another couple of hours.

With some relief, Rachel settles in for more waiting.

Quinn smiles at them weakly when they trudge into her room a few hours later. "Hi," she husks.

Rachel's eyes well at the sight of her smile, and she floats momentarily on the euphoria of relief before it all sets in again. "You're okay?"

"Yeah," Quinn says. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault Quinnie," Ms. Fabray says.

"Wish you guys didn't have to see me like this," Quinn says.

Rachel thinks about sending her application to Tisch. She thinks about Quinn's body betraying her just a few hours later. The room shades in gray, but Rachel blinks and it's gone. She moves forward, taking Quinn's hand that's free of the IV. She speaks softly, fervently, "I'm just glad to see you."

Quinn smiles again. This time it's with strength.

* * *

Rachel can't count the number of times she recites her monologues or sings her two song selections. A part of her gut clenches every time she starts a run through. The dreams of her being split in two only become more visceral, more tangible as her artistic review approaches. And everything else remains forever in gray. Everything except for Quinn, and with her, color becomes ever the more pronounced.

She craves talking with Quinn. She craves seeing her.

They spend practically every day together over Christmas break. Rachel  _hurts_  when Quinn returns to New Haven, but a small part of her thinks that maybe, just maybe she'll be going back to the Northeast with her in the future. She doesn't let this thought linger because getting anywhere outside of Lima still seems impossible. Quinn flies back to Lima to see her in her play that runs over the weekend in the middle of January. The audience is hardly full, but with Quinn (and her mother) sitting in the audience, Rachel barely even notices.

She grows increasingly anxious as the day of her artistic review nears. She feels sick at times—in her stomach, in her chest—but she pushes onwards. The night before she's set to leave Lima for her audition in Chicago, she logs on to Skype, calling Quinn much like she always does. But unlike most times, she's near silent. Instead, she listens and watches Quinn and, for the moment, it settles her nerves.

"I know you're nervous, and I know it won't mean much, but you shouldn't be. You're the closest I've been to a star, burning hot and bright and meant for so much. Stars are energy and light and life. That's you Rachel."

And Rachel feels something she hadn't felt in a long time. Confidence. Purpose. She goes to bed untroubled, tranquil. And even though her dreams are still in gray, there's something pulsing and living and breathing behind it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rachel's monologue is from "The Care and Feeding of Baby Birds" by Ann Wuehler.


	4. In Her Hands

Rachel's artistic review is slated for the morning session. They arrive in Chicago with plenty of time to spare the day before. Her dads try to get her out of the hotel and walk around Navy Pier with them. She begs off. Her stomach is already turning circles, and she's certain even looking at the giant Ferris wheel will send her running for the nearest bathroom. Her dads leave, promising to bring her dinner when they come back.

She feels awash in gray, her limbs heavy and her mind churns like her stomach. She tries to keep from dwelling on it, focusing instead on what Quinn said the night before.

"You're a star, Rachel," she whispers the words out loud. It's not as believable coming from her mouth as it is from Quinn's, especially when another part of her is screaming to run back to Lima and never think about trying to leave it again.

She breathes, focusing on Quinn in her head. It settles her nerves enough that she feels like she can practice her audition pieces. She makes it through each selection successfully. More than successfully. She is as ready as she can be. She had especially made sure to practice her dramatic monologue enough so that she can sufficiently convey all the emotion without any of the unwanted aftereffects. She doesn't think the judges would be particularly impressed with a prospective student breaking down after a monologue. Besides, it's not like Quinn would be there to immediately make it all go away either.

Quinn is very talented at erasing the bad—or at least making her momentarily forget.

It's something in the way Quinn holds her—cradles her really. Something in the low, warm pitch of her words. Something in the feel of her body.

Rachel swallows, feeling heat flair below her navel and burn through her blood. She sinks down on her bed suddenly, very aware of what that heat means and very aware that she's reacting physically to the thought of Quinn.

There's a knock on the hotel room door before that thought really takes hold of her. Rachel jumps up with a gasp, startled.

She hurries over, standing on her toes to look through the peephole. She jolts back down to the soles of her feet upon seeing who is on the other side. She brings a hand to her heart, gently resting her forehead against the door. She takes a breath and turns the door handle.

"Quinn!"

"Hi Rachel," Quinn says, smiling shyly. She's in a loose trench coat and scarf that brings out the green in her eyes. Her dress is wrinkled and her hair mussed, but Rachel thinks she's never been more beautiful.

Rachel jumps into her, wrapping her arms around her neck. Quinn laughs, dropping her overnight bag and wrapping her arms around her in turn. Rachel can't help the squeal of laughter passing her lips as Quinn's embrace pulls her off the ground.

When she is gently deposited back on the floor, Rachel pulls back, scanning Quinn, taking her all in. "What are you doing here?" she says disbelievingly. "How are you here?"

"Supporting you," Quinn says simply. Rachel tries to hold back her astonished smile, but it's impossible. She ducks her head instead, tucking hair behind her ear as Quinn continues. "As to how… I finished my class work in advance, took a plane from LaGuardia, called your fathers to see where you were, and then took a taxi here to the hotel."

"But  _how?_ It's expensive and so far away! I know Yale keeps you busy."

"Don't worry about the money. I wouldn't miss this for anything Rachel," Quinn says as she brushes past Rachel to drop her bag at the foot of the bed. "Let's get out of here and grab some dinner."

"I told my dads to pick me something up," Rachel says.

"And I told them I would get you out of the hotel room. It'll be good for you. I promise. You're more than ready for tomorrow."

Quinn guides her to the door, handing off her purse, before Rachel can do so much as stomp her foot. If she's being honest with herself, Rachel can hardly still process the thought that Quinn is here, right now, with her.

They're in the elevator before she can honestly think anything other than  _Quinn_. "I should be practicing."

Quinn sends her a look. "Let's go eat and then you can practice again. You're going to need to eat at some point anyway."

Rachel crosses her arms, pouting. "I'm too nervous. I'll just throw it all up."

"You're being difficult on purpose," Quinn says lightly.

"I'm being truthful. My stomach will be full, and I'll just projectile vomit everywhere."

"You'll walk it off just fine if you don't stuff yourself," Quinn says as the elevator arrives at hotel lobby. Quinn immediately strides off, leaving Rachel behind.

"Quinn Fabray! You are impossible!" Rachel says, stomping after her.

Quinn wheels around, a smile stretching across her face. Rachel's breath is stolen from her lips at the sight.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be than here being impossible for you," Quinn says. She says it flippantly, but her eyes are dark and focused.

Rachel thinks the sun has been moved into her body because she burns in a way that's certain to give life to  _something_.

Quinn waits for her to catch up and then leads her out of the hotel lobby. Rachel finds herself unable to resist touching her and tangles their arms together so that Quinn is more or less escorting her.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asks after a moment.

"I figured we would head over to Millennium Park. It's not far. I looked it up on my phone on the way here."

"That sounds… nice. But I'll have you know that I'm going to make you listen to my audition pieces when we get back," Rachel says.

"Even though I've listened to them hundreds of times by now and think they're just fine?"

"They have to be more than just fine."

"They're perfect," Quinn says. "But for what it's worth, I'll be happy to listen to you perform them again."

Rachel's silent for a moment, and then, " _Thank you_. For being here. For being so patient with me. I would have given up long ago if it wasn't for you, and I think everyone else would have too."

"There are some days where I'm certain I should have died in that car accident," Quinn says suddenly. The world slants into silent gray, rocking into her, only to just as quickly jump back into sound and color. Rachel's heart pounds. Quinn continues, "I'm fragile. We all are. Dreams are fragile too. I don't know how else to say it, but I never, ever thought your dream was. For a while, back in high school, the fact that you were meant for so much was the only thing real to me. Besides, every artist needs a compelling journey."

There's so much she can say to that. So much that is special and endearing and—she settles on the easiest response instead. "Ruining my chances at NYADA and my subsequent perseverance would make an excellent story."

"Everyone does like an underdog."

"I'm not sure what I am anymore," Rachel says softly. "I feel like I've lived two lives or that I'm two people. One was before the audition, the other one is now. But these two aspects of me are at war. Some days it feels like I'm going to be ripped down the middle."

"Do you like performing?" Quinn says brusquely.

"Yes," Rachel says slowly. "Once I'm up on stage, I forget everything else. It's the leading up to it that's so hard."

"I know it's not much, but that's why I'm here. To help you get back on that stage," Quinn says, hazel eyes gleaming gold in the sunlight. Something kindles in Rachel's chest, in her gut, in her  _being_. It's colorful. Melodic. Like maybe life is meant to be. She's certain the smallest gust of wind will set the wildfire free.

Rachel ducks her head, thinking again about how she would give up everything for Quinn to live.

She's never done romance by halves.

But whatever  _feelings_  Quinn seems to ignite within her have no place in her current life. Not when she's straddling two people, two callings within herself—not sure who she is or meant to be, not sure where she'll end up. She looks back at Quinn, and that  _something_ sparks in her chest, and it  _hurts_. But for now, it's the only thing she can know.

It's the mature route—something Rachel from before would never have known to take. It's unfamiliar, this road. It  _hurts_ , but it's the right thing to do. Even when Quinn smiles at her like that.

Rachel wonders if something, someone out there is laughing at her. Dangling opportunity—happiness—in front of her, only to snatch it away.

It's cruel.

She breathes back in the present, looking at Quinn. "I don't want to talk about me."

Quinn arches an eyebrow, a lazy smirk slowly taking form on her lips. "Oh really?"

"Really," Rachel says, huffing amiably.

"I don't have anything to say that you haven't heard before," Quinn says shrugging her shoulders. "Classes are going well. It sounds kind of sick, but I like the academic stress and pressure to perform. I have friends. I love New Haven."

"And you're happy? Really happy?" Rachel says.

"Yes," Quinn says, and Rachel never knew one word could be infused with so much meaning. "High school feels so far away. I can't believe some of the things I did. I regret a lot of it."

"I did some petty, short-sighted, mean-spirited things too."

"Rachel, I  _bullied_  you for a year and then was antagonistic for more. Not to mention the cheating and the baby-stealing plot and the prom insanity and—"

"You were growing up, and, if I may be frank, you didn't exactly have the best role models at the time."

"It was only last year. I haven't change that much," Quinn says darkly. "And lacking a role model is no excuse. I knew better, but I did things anyway."

"You have changed. You've changed so much. Look at us! You flew here to Chicago to support me!" Rachel says. Quinn's cheeks, already red from the cold, deepen in color. She looks away so Rachel continues. "And you told me yourself that you were seeing a therapist. I mean no disrespect Quinn, but you had a lot of issues because you were so smart and felt like you _were so stuck_."

Quinn is silent for a moment, gnawing at her bottom lip. "I had a lot of issues," she echoes. "It doesn't excuse everything I did."

"I think it means a lot that you look at it like you do now," Rachel says. She squeezes Quinn's arm, subsequently pulling their bodies closer together. Quinn smiles hesitantly down at her.

Millennium Park comes in sight, and with it, there's a faint strain of music. There's a buzz of energy, something full and pulsing. As they get closer, it becomes apparent there is some sort of concert, and, despite the cold, people are flocking into the park. Rachel begins to walk faster, the hint of something happening too much to keep her leisurely pace.

"You don't want to eat?" Quinn says, teasingly. "I thought you had to get back in order to practice again?"

"You made me forget," Rachel says. "For just a moment, mind you. And I  _would_  like to investigate whatever may be happening."

"You'll have no complaints from me," Quinn says. She gently pulls free of Rachel's arm and holds out her hand. "Come on then."

Rachel's gaze flicks from the hand, to Quinn's warm eyes and slight smile, before going back to the offered palm and curled fingers. Her own hand slides into place in Quinn's grip, and it's  _right._  Rachel's certain her heart is going to burst into flames at any moment—even as she reminds herself to smother the flames and prevent it from turning wild.

Because it's the only option.

She has to take care of herself first. With her dreams still in gray, and the pulling, clawing, ripping in her body, turning her into halves, she's in no place to offer anyone anything. Especially with Quinn.

But Quinn squeezes her hand, and it sparks all over again soaring through her blood and bones. Rachel resolves that there's no reason she can't enjoy herself.

Quinn pulls her through the crowd, and it doesn't even matter why there is a concert or even who is performing because people are on their feet dancing and singing and Quinn is holding her hand,  _alive_.

Quinn stops in a small opening of people, drawing Rachel into her arms as the lyrics pour loose from the band's lead. Rachel doesn't know the song, doesn't know the band. But the song is vibrant and open and reverberating. " _Live it up, you're growing up. Parties in the wilderness of life. Light it up, just give it up. Where the kids are running free tonight_."

Quinn twirls her, and Rachel laughs and, for another moment, forgets everything.

" _They're running free tonight_."

They don't stay much longer. She is actually hungry and also too concerned about tomorrow to forget forever. They make it back to the hotel room before her dads, and she practices her audition pieces twice. She finds that's all she needs. Getting out of the hotel and forgetting about it all for a while did wonders. She's still anxious, but it no longer feels as if everything will crash down around her. That night, Quinn's even breathing guides her into the gray dreams of sleep.

* * *

Rachel wakes to her phone's alarm and anxiety immediately bubbles within her. Her fathers are stirring in the other bed, but Quinn doesn't even move. She focuses on Quinn's breathing, the rise and fall of her chest in the half-light of the hotel room, and the arm thrown casually across her midriff. Quinn's hand is hot against her side.

It helps.

She rises and takes a long, scalding shower. When she gets out, her fathers are shuffling around the room, but Quinn is still sound asleep, oblivious to the world. Her features are lax and tranquil, hair falling over her eyes. She's curled up and wrapped around the sheets.

It helps to look at her too.

It calms the anxiety, the fear, the part of her that tells her that this—Tisch, New York, her dream—is all wrong. The fact that it's  _Quinn_ … There's too much else to worry about to get into  _that_.

She breathes and the rest of the morning passes in a whirlwind. Quinn and her fathers escort her the couple of blocks over to the community center hosting the artistic review. She feels kind of as if she's marching off to war, and she supposes, in a way, she is. Her combat gear just happens to be her favorite dance clothes and a bag with a granola bar, water, and her sheet music. Her weapon? Her vocals, her acting, and her body's ability to move to rhythm.

They arrive thirty minutes early, but the lobby is already teeming with prospects just like her. Her dads hang back as Quinn walks with her up to the sign-in desk. Rachel's certain her heartbeat is moving at racecar speed. She's cold and sweaty all at once. Every footstep is shaky, uncertain. She feels faint.

"Rachel," Quinn says sharply, drawing to a halt. "Look at me."

She does. Quinn's tone is one that brokers obedience, and Rachel's much too overwhelmed to fight. Hazel bears into her, but with it comes a gentle, contrasting touch as Quinn takes her hands.

"Don't think about anyone else okay? Don't think about anything that happened before. Focus on you and now. That's all you have to do," Quinn says firmly.

Rachel nods her head.

"You're the most talented person I know," Quinn says. "You can do this."

"I can do this," Rachel says, but it's forced and entirely fake. There's no confidence in her voice. At the moment, she's almost positive her only experience performing was her NYADA audition. It's the only performance she can remember with any sort of clarity.

"Remember Nationals? In this same city, you proved that you were the best."

"That was a team effort," Rachel says weakly.

"Fuck that," Quinn growls. "Glee was always yours. I meant what I said—you're a star, Rachel."

Color radiates within her, and with it, a blossom of conviction. Confidence. Nerve. She's as ready as she can be, and Quinn is telling her that she's a star. Again.

"You're right," Rachel says, meaningfully. "I'm ready."

Quinn smiles. "No matter what happens, I'll be here."

"Thank you Quinn," Rachel says. She throws her arms around Quinn's neck, and allows herself a second to forget  _everything_  outside of Quinn's embrace. Quinn sighs into her, but Rachel pulls back quickly. It can only last for a moment. "I can't show any signs of weakness."

"Fair enough," Quinn laughs lightly. She grows somber quickly. "Good luck Rachel."

Rachel nods her head and swallows. She takes one last look at Quinn—one final look for strength and belief—and she approaches the woman sitting at the sign-in table.

She receives a small packet of info, but most importantly, she receives her artistic review audition order. First is the acting component, then the interview, dancing, and finally, for better or worse, singing comes last. She tells herself to take each part one at time—no thinking about her solos until she's gotten through everything else.

She turns, searching for Quinn and her fathers. They stand together near the entrance, watching her. Rachel shivers under Quinn's hawk-like gaze even from across the room. Her fathers wave at her, and Quinn nods her head once. She takes a breath, and then marches through the double doors that will either be her end or beginning. The hallway on the other side is crowded with even more Tisch prospects.

Where once she might have attempted to intermingle and discuss Tisch or the artistic review, she chooses to ignore them. She can't quite get a gauge on the other hopefuls yet, but there's always a chance that any conversation could result in mind games by a more competitive prospect. She's not far enough removed from the show choir world yet to forget some of the tactics used by their competitors. She's got enough on her plate as is. So she waits.

She's eventually shuffled through the bureaucratic process, directed into a group with the other drama department prospects, put into another group with the music theatre candidates, which is then divided into one of four groups, and finally sent to the acting component. There's more waiting, and she feels as if she's outside of her own body looking in. Finally, she's called in. She steps into the room to find three admissions judges waiting for her.

"Rachel Berry?" says the woman on the far right.

"Yes ma'am."

"You can choose which monologue you'd like to perform first. Whenever you're ready Miss Berry."

Rachel takes a breath and spills into her comedic monologue. She thinks her dramatic is better—it's certainly more personal—so she makes sure to save it for last. When she finishes, she comes out of herself, out of her character, and while the woman on the far right is stony faced, the other two judges seem to be resisting grins.

"Very good. And your dramatic choice?" the woman says.

Rachel nods her head, closes her eyes, and welcomes Connie back into her psyche.

She finishes and breathes, casting Connie out. She runs a hand over her face, buying herself another moment to regain control.

"Thank you Miss Berry."

"Thank you for the consideration," Rachel says. She wants to say more. Rachel from before would have said something more, but the Rachel she is now—the Rachel that's so uncertain about everything—can only walk out the door.

It's only when she makes it outside that she notices her legs feel like jelly, shaky and unstable, and that there's a cold sweat lingering on her body.

She waits for the rest of her group to rotate through their monologues, and then they are escorted to their interviews. Tisch provides four interviewers from the drama department, which makes the line seem to move much more briskly. When she's called in, she's met with a man with salt and pepper hair and pronounced laugh lines.

The interview session was what she's been least nervous about during her months of preparation. It's only as she shakes the man's hand in greeting that she realizes everything that can go wrong in it. She feels awkward and hesitant, and even taking the seat across from him seems like a delicate task.

"Let's get right to it. I see on your resume and transcript that you graduated high school ranked within the top 5% of your class with remarkably high SAT scores. You also passed all of your AP exams with a 5, except for BC Calculus, which you passed with a 4. You captained your school's glee club for three years, including your senior year where you won the national competition. You had a number of other extracurriculars and club activities as well as an extensive list of volunteer work. My question for you, Miss Berry, is why are you currently attending Ohio State at Lima?"

"The simplest explanation is that I was naïve," Rachel says softly. She reminds herself to speak firmly, articulately. "To be clear, I don't find anything wrong with attending OSU Lima, but I find my personal goals don't match up with my current position. I made a mistake last year. A costly one, but it has taught me much about myself, about the world. I've changed, I've evolved, and I feel like a much better, stronger individual."

She's stretching the truth. There are times, yes, when she does feel much more prepared for the world—and Quinn has much to do with that. But there are still way too many times that she feels woefully inadequate. That doesn't even count the gray dreams or the clawing in her chest trying to rip her in half.

The rest of the interview continues with more typical questions of "what can you bring to Tisch?" and "what are three weaknesses that you have?"

Then she's done, and she walks out with purpose. It's on to dance, which is organized into small groups in order to be examined on their ability to learn and adapt to choreography. She's not the best dancer—Mike, Brittany…  _Quinn_  were always much more talented in that department. But she's fairly confident in her ability to learn choreography. Now that she's getting ready to start the dancing part, she wishes she had practiced it a little bit more.

Maybe she could have convinced Quinn to give her more private, detailed lessons…

Rachel shakes her head. There's no time for  _that_  now. Not when the choreographer is already talking and the boy next to her is sweating bullets. She struggles a little bit, but objectively she knows she did at least as good as half the people in the room. Subjectively, she's okay with her performance.

Her group is then escorted toward the final part of their artistic review, and it doesn't really hit her until they are told to wait for their name to be called that she's getting read to sing for her audition.

The memory of those words getting stuck in her throat… that moment she realized it was all over for her… Loss. Failure. Despair. Being  _nothing_ ,  _no one_ ,  _nobody_.

She's cold again. Gray. What is she doing trying to get into Tisch?

She can't  _sing_. She came all the way to Chicago to—

_Chicago_.

That word becomes a lifeline. Nationals in Chicago was a fairytale ending compared to everything else that happened since  _before_.

_Glee was always yours._

_You're a star._

Quinn believes in her.

"Rachel Berry?"

She jolts. It's her turn. The assistant that called her name ushers her into the room. Like the acting component, there are three admissions judges sitting before her. There's an accompanist on the piano in the corner. She gives them a nervous smile.

"Miss Berry I presume?" the man in the middle asks, adjusting his glasses.

"Yes sir."

"You can hand off your sheet music to the accompanist. Once she's ready, you may begin."

Rachel does as she's told, indicating to the accompanist which selection she will be singing first. The accompanist smiles and nods. Rachel takes her spot back in front of the judges.

The music begins. She inhales and sings the first note.

* * *

Rachel pushes through people in the lobby, looking for Quinn or her dads. She clears through a group and into a gap, and she spots them off to the side of the doors. Her dads converse together in the corner. Quinn leans against the wall next to them, reading a book.

Rachel can't stop the upward tilt of her lips at the sight. As she stares, moving closer, Quinn looks up, her features visibly brightening. She snaps her book shut, pushing off the wall. Rachel meets her halfway.

"I'm so proud of you," Quinn says before Rachel can so much as open her mouth.

"I don't know anything yet," Rachel says.

"Doesn't matter. You did something brave and wonderful."

Before Rachel can respond, she's ambushed by her fathers. Her gaze never leaves Quinn's as they fire off question after question about her experience.

Her heart is light during the walk back to the hotel. She feels accomplished. Proud. Even if she doesn't get in, she faced up her fears.

But  _oh_ , does she want it so badly.

It's only when Quinn stumbles that the world slams back into gray.

Rachel grabs her at the elbow, wrapping her arm around her waist, alarmed. "Quinn!? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Quinn says weakly. "My spine just decided to be a bit of a bitch all of sudden."

"That's—that's not—should we go to the hospital?" Rachel asks worriedly. Her heart pounds. She barely notices her dads have drawn to a stop in front of them, looking back with concern.

"No, it's okay. I get some pain on the occasion. That just happened to set in really quickly."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind going to the hospital with you. I just want to make sure you have the best care available."

"I'm fine. I promise," Quinn says.

"Okay," Rachel says dubiously. She can't bring herself to let go of Quinn as they start walking again. It anchors her to reality, anchors her to  _Quinn_. She thinks that if she hangs on long enough, she can transfer some of her health over to Quinn.

"Tell me more about your audition. How was the singing portion? I know that's what you were most nervous about."

Quinn's trying to distract her, she knows. Rachel obliges, however, because there's nothing else she can do. "I wouldn't have made it through without you. When I got to that part, all I could think about was what happened in my NYADA audition. I would have frozen up all over again if it wasn't for you and everything you've told me."

Quinn looks as if she wants to say something, but instead she smiles tightly. There's a hint of a blush on her cheeks before she ducks her head.

Rachel grins coyly as her heart thumps in her chest and up into her throat.

* * *

Things settle back into a fairly normal routine once they return from Chicago. Instead of spending her evenings fretting about her artistic review, she now worries over when she'll get the envelope from Tisch deciding her future. Even though her application has been completed, she still feels the ripping, the pulling. She still experiences the world in muted gray except when Quinn prompts color, letting it explode loose from somewhere within her.

Quinn's spring break is rapidly approaching. The week before she's slated to return home, they make plans—or well, Rachel makes plans and Quinn acquiesces with a smile over Skype. Afterwards, Rachel can't help but let her worry over Tisch slide into conversation.

"I know I can expect either a big envelope or a small one. A big one is good. It means there is copious amounts of information within advising you of what to expect at Tisch as a new student. A small one is generally bad because there is no need to send you all that information if you're not accepted. What if I was so bad they didn't send me a letter at all as a form of punishment for even trying to get in? What if they just want me to wait forever and ever for their response?" Rachel says. She fidgets, pulling at her shirt, messing with the ends of her hair.

"Rachel," Quinn says. She leans in close to her computer, her eyes big and expressive even through Rachel's laptop screen. "They're going to send you a letter and it's going to be stuffed in a giant envelope."

"I don't know how you can be so sure about these things Quinn."

"I've always been sure about you," Quinn says.

Rachel's not sure if Quinn meant to husk those words or not, but she shifts as she feels warmth pooling below her stomach. She bites her bottom lip; almost afraid to look at the screen, worried that she'll see that she's blushing heavily. "Goodnight Quinn."

"Goodnight Rachel," Quinn says softly.

Rachel logs off of Skype quickly, color bursting in her heart. She settles into bed, putting her thoughts and feelings on Quinn Fabray as far from her mind as possible. She sleeps, and her gray dreams are more pronounced than ever.

Quinn pulls at her—dead, alive, cold, warm. Rachel's a shade, tangible, nothing, everything.

Rachel wakes up to her alarm with sweat on her brow. She immediately jumps out of bed and hits her elliptical. The faster she goes, the quicker she can chase the gray dreams away.

She goes to class. It passes in a blur. She's not sure what subjects they covered or even if the professor is present. She can't shake the gray dreams until she gets home and checks the mail.

Her heart and mind stop as she pulls a thick envelope out of the mailbox. Her hands are suddenly swollen and numb. She drops the other letters and nearly drops the envelope clearly marked as Tisch too. It's big, full. She can feel each individual pulse point in her body and the blood rushing through underneath her skin. She shakily rips into the envelope right there in her driveway.

She reads it, once, twice. And promptly sits down hard on the pavement of her driveway.

She cries.

She  _smiles_.

She staggers to her feet in a haze and rushes toward her front door. She finds her phone where she left it on the kitchen counter. Somehow, she's able to see through her tears to call Quinn.

"Quinn! I got in! I'm going to New York!"

* * *

She sends in her acceptance as a transfer student to Tisch the following day. She seals it with a kiss and hums happily as she places it in the mailbox.

She's overwhelmed. There's so much to do now, and so little time. She already started talking to an advisor who recommended that she take some summer courses in New York because not all of her classes from OSU Lima were going to transfer over. Summer classes start in a mere couple of months. A couple of months! She has to register, organize her new NYU email, shop for dorm supplies, fill out FAFSA forms, and so much more.

That evening, she only manages to have a quick conversation with Quinn who has an exam the next day. Rachel's grateful she took a little bit of time to talk, but says her goodbyes early in the conversation because Quinn seems distracted. The last thing she wants to do is interfere with Quinn's studies, and she'll be seeing her in person within a week anyway.

She's spends the rest of her evening shopping for dorm supplies. Around 10:00 p.m., her phone rings again. She lights up, seeing it's Quinn on the other end. Quinn must have finished studying early.

"Hi Quinn," she says brightly.

"Rachel?" The feminine voice on the other end is not Quinn. Whoever it is sounds stressed, panicked.

"Yes," Rachel says. Black, white, gray swim in her vision.

"This is Dharmi. Quinn's roommate. Quinn's in bad shape, and I can't get a hold of her mother. The paramedics just picked her up."

Rachel freezes. She swallows. Blood pounds in her ears. "I'll try her mother. Can you just—can you stay with her? Keep me updated?"

"Yes. There are a bunch of us on our way to the hospital right now. Rachel—she…," Dharmi exhales shakily. "It was scary. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks," Rachel breathes. "Thanks for looking out for her."

"No problem," Dharmi says weakly. "Talk to you soon."

Rachel hangs up. The secondhand ticks. She fumbles through her contacts before finally landing on Quinn. Then she vaguely remembers Quinn saying that her mother had gone to visit her sister for a couple of days. Calling the Fabray home phone number is out, but after  _last_  time, Rachel made sure to save Ms. Fabray's cell number. She somehow gets to the saved contact.

She selects the number and listens to it ring and ring and ring until it goes to voicemail. She tries again. And again. And again. It's the only thing she can do. Finally, on the sixth try, a harried voice answers the phone.

Rachel barely lets Ms. Fabray get out a "hello" before she rushes in. "Ms. Fabray, it's Rachel Berry. Quinn's in the hospital again."

"Oh.  _Oh_. I—Is she? Rachel, is she?" Ms. Fabray stutters, her voice growing weaker with every syllable.

"I don't know. I don't know," Rachel says thickly.

"Okay, okay. I'm going to New Haven right now. Thank you Rachel."

Ms. Fabray hangs up before she can respond. Rachel sits at her desk. She feels the secondhand circle physically. Each tick is a pulse resonating in her body. Quinn, hospitalized. Again. Just after she accepted a position at Tisch. She takes a breath, willing her body to find the strength to move. She staggers out her room.

The hallway seems to stretch endlessly. It tilts black, slants white, and then becomes awash in gray. She's lightheaded.

Quinn almost died when she changed her major at OSU Lima to theater. Quinn almost died when she applied to Tisch. Quinn may or may not be dead at a hospital in New Haven right now.

She makes it to the steps, leading to the family room. The TV is on. It sounds fuzzy, muted. The screen comes into sight, and the color drains out, bleeding onto the floor.

"Rachel?" She hears her dad's voice distantly.

It's not a coincidence.

Nothing that's happened since Quinn's accident is.

It's the only certain thing she knows.

Quinn's alive because of her. Quinn can die all over again because of her.

* * *

The secondhand on the clock above the fireplace circles and circles. She doesn't sleep. She barely resists texting or calling Dharmi every five minutes after getting her number. Ms. Fabray contacts her in the early hours of the morning, letting her know she arrived in New Haven. Quinn remains in critical condition.  _Pyelonephritis—_ Ms. Fabray lets her know. A kidney infection.

Later, another text comes through.  _The kidney infection led to sepsis_. A blood infection.

Rachel's hands shake as she looks up information on blood infections on her laptop. She's close to vomiting when she sees that the mortality rate is about a third of all patients even for those that are in a doctor's care.

Light slants through her living room windows. It doesn't make any meaningful change. All it does is lighten the gray of the room as her fathers wish her worried goodbyes on their way to work.

A voice in her head repeats— **it is done, it is done, it is done**. She made that decision. She holds Quinn's life in her hands. In her future. In her choice. And she told herself, she would give up everything for Quinn to live. The secondhand ticks.

To change a fate, another must be changed in turn.

She made that decision. She would make it again.

It doesn't stop the world from existing in gray. She prays, begs to something,  _anything_ , that it's enough that it still does.

Her phone rings, startling her from her reverie. She doesn't think she even has a heartbeat anymore for it to stop. She answers, not looking at the caller ID.

"You bitch!" a voice comes through full of rage and tears. "I thought we had each other's backs about Quinn! You didn't tell me. No one told me!"

Santana.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Rachel murmurs.

"No one told me," Santana cries on the other end of the line. "I had to find out from Britt this morning after she only found out from Quinn's roommate because Quinn never called her back last night."

"I'm sorry," Rachel says. She's crying too. And she's sorry for so much more. "I'm so  _lost_."

"A fucking kidney and blood infection. And no one fucking told me! Rachel, no one told me. And I can't be  _there_."

"I know," Rachel says.

"God fucking damn! It's not fucking fair! Hasn't she suffered enough!" Santana shouts. There's a crash on the other end, and Santana takes a shaky breath. Then, "I'm sorry. It's not your fault."

Rachel barely resists saying that it is.

* * *

She has to drop out of Tisch, she decides as the secondhand keeps circling. It's the only solution. She'll still have her life at the end of the day, and, more importantly, Quinn will have hers. It  _can't_  be too late. Everything remains in gray—there's still a balance, an equilibrium, between her decisions for her future and Quinn's life.

She cries again. For herself (because she is selfish). But mostly for Quinn. She should have recognized all along what was going on, why everything seemed so dissonant since the accident. If she had, Quinn never would have had to suffer for every decision she made.

She opens up her laptop, going to NYU's website and finding the contact information for the admissions office. She calls the number listed, but it goes straight to voicemail. She imagines they must be incredibly busy with sorting through incoming students, but she still grits her teeth in frustration. She hangs up and clicks the email address instead. Her email client pops up, and she hurriedly begins typing a message.

It comes out as gibberish—full of typos and incomprehensible syntax. She deletes it all, and runs a hand through her hair, attempting to calm herself. She starts again, but only makes it to the second line when her cell vibrates. Anxiety rings through her, shaking her to the core when she sees that it's Ms. Fabray.

"Quinn?" Rachel says as a breathless greeting. There's a pause, a secondhand tick that seems to last forever and ever and ever until finally—

"She's okay."

And Rachel breathes. Her heart beats.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Ms. Fabray continues. "But the doctors are optimistic because she got to them so quickly. Thank goodness her roommate was insistent upon calling 911 when she did. …She wants to talk to you."

"She does?" Rachel says faintly.

"Yes, give me just a second," Ms. Fabray answers.

There's a click of footsteps, soft murmurings, and then, "Rachel?"

Rachel chokes back her tears as she hears Quinn's voice. "Quinn. Are you okay? No, that's a stupid question. You're not okay. I'm  _so_  sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Quinn says. Her voice is low, frail, and there's a tremor to it that scares Rachel. "I just wanted to talk to you. I like hearing your voice. It makes me feel better."

Rachel gasps in a shaky breath.

"Hey, don't cry," Quinn says. "I'm going to be okay.  _We're_  going to be okay."

"I'm supposed to be the strong one right now," Rachel says, a hint of a broken smile crossing her face upon realizing that Quinn's trying to comfort her.

"I'll be home for spring break. I promise."

"You don't just go home the next day from a blood infection. I looked it up."

"Don't worry. I will. I have to go now, but  _wait_  for me Rach. Don't do anything rash."

"Bye Quinn," Rachel says softly.

Quinn hums a response, and the phone goes silent. Rachel lingers with her cell at her ear. "I love you," she says softly into the empty gray of her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song from the park is Blondfire's "Where the Kids Are."


	5. Counterbalance

Rachel begins composing an email to Tisch's admissions office and the university registrar a dozen different times in the days following Quinn's hospitalization. Each time, she finds herself deleting the message, unable to press send with Quinn's words ringing in her ears.

… _Wait for me Rach. Don't do anything rash_.

She dials the numbers provided on the website too. She hangs up before anyone can answer sometimes. Other times, she makes it to the hold. And once, she even started talking to a university official only to be told she needed to talk to someone in a different department. She hung up as the call was being transferred.

_Don't do anything rash_.

It's not rash.

It's the  _only_  choice she has because Quinn's life means more than her future. But those words—Quinn's words—stay with her regardless.

She can't bring herself to withdraw. Not yet. Not with Quinn getting better by the day. Not without talking to her first.

The phone call with Quinn may have stopped her from immediately dropping out of Tisch. She is, however, very much still convinced it's the only answer if Quinn is going to have the long, healthy life she deserves. Three times Quinn has fallen ill because Rachel has dared to dream big. Three times Quinn has almost died all over again.

Three times too many.

She has to drop out, but not before telling Quinn. Rachel can take any disappointment as long as Quinn gets to live. And if their relationship suffers for it, if Quinn finally loses all patience, Rachel can't blame her. It will hurt more than anything she's ever known, but that doesn't matter because she knows—she  _knows_ —that if Quinn were to die, that pain would be incomprehensible.

There's no explaining the infinite gray, the bodiless voice. Rachel knows these to be inherent truths, but she also knows how impossible it is to anyone on the outside looking in. Is it God? Is it a god, fate embodied? Is it something outside the realm of the human universe? And why did it answer her call to save Quinn to begin with? Whatever it is, it's not a coincidence. And so Rachel knows she has to take action.

Quinn's voice grows stronger and stronger with each passing conversation, and she continues to say, in some form or fashion, to  _wait_. Rachel oscillates like a pendulum. The ripping, pulling, tearing halves of her might be her undoing.

But Quinn regains strength, and, this, ultimately, continues to stay her hand.

She owes it to Quinn to tell her she has to withdraw after  _everything_. And then, afterwards, after Quinn knows, she'll inform her fathers, and she'll do it.

And she'll find a cheap apartment somewhere between Lima Heights and downtown. She'll finish classes at OSU Lima. She'll see if Mr. Schuester wants an assistant. Maybe the music store near the temple is hiring new instructors? She could teach music in the evenings and on weekends even after she graduates. As for her regular job? Maybe she should look into teaching? And then she could coach a glee club team, or even just teach choir. Or maybe she'll end up in a cubicle with modestly priced pumps and men in short sleeves and ties. She'll come home at night. And she'll look up Quinn online who will have no doubt have made it as an author, actress, or just a really special, intelligent individual, and she'll remember that Quinn always believed in her. Then her partner would call her in for dinner or ask her to start it, and they'll look as different from Quinn as possible because Rachel can't try to compare. Because nothing will ever measure up to Quinn.

Most importantly and above all, Quinn will be  _alive_.

And for that, Rachel will gladly live that kind of life. The life she is not meant to have, but one that she would choose each and every time if it meant Quinn would get to live.

* * *

"Rachel?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're not listening," Quinn says.

"No!" Rachel says shooting up into a sitting position on her bed and nearly losing her phone. "I am! I just have—"

"—a lot on your mind. Yes I've heard," Quinn sighs. There's a pause, and then, "Let's talk about it."

"No, it's okay. As I said, I want to wait to talk to you about it in person."

She pictures Quinn sitting up in her hospital bed in New Haven, features steely. Rachel can practically hear Quinn thinking it over and prays she doesn't push the issue. She's almost positive she would give in. But she  _has_  to tell Quinn in person that she'll be dropping out of Tisch and giving up on her dreams all over again. She's terrified that when she does, her relationship with Quinn will hit its breaking point. After everything Quinn's done for her, after everything she's put up with, all that patience, all that time, only for Rachel to seemingly throw it all out the window… She thinks their friendship is strong, but Rachel is the first to admit that an insecure little girl who never learned how to properly make friends still lives within her.

So maybe it's selfish, but she wants to be able to see Quinn in person one last time if Quinn decides that that's it—that they are  _done_.

"Alright, fine," Quinn finally says. "But I'll have you know, I'll be back in Lima in like a day, and you will have to fess up then."

"They're releasing you!" Rachel says with excitement.

Quinn laughs. "Yeah, they just told me this morning that if everything remains stable, I should be able to go home tomorrow—as long as I come back for a checkup next week of course."

"I guess you were right all along. It might be almost halfway into spring break, but you're still making it home for it."

"Glad of it too. I'm sick of hospitals. I've been in them far too much this past year," Quinn says. "I'm such a freak of nature. Either that or God is seriously messing with me."

_Three times_. Three times Quinn almost died because Rachel didn't see what was right in front of her.

Rachel sucks in a breath. Even though Quinn's tone is light, she feels like she's been punched in the gut. Words come rushing out of her. "You are not a freak of nature. You have just traversed through an extremely unlucky spell in your life, which I'm sure will be straightened out. You know if the world is maintained in any semblance of balance, you're probably due to have unreasonably good luck for the rest of your life. In fact, I swear that you will. Quinn, I…" The words suddenly get lodged in her throat, but she chokes them out anyway. "I will always support you. No matter what."

* * *

Rachel receives a text from Quinn when she's released from the hospital on Tuesday. Quinn tells her that she's bundled up in the car with her mom and they'll make half the drive that night and the rest tomorrow. Rachel promises to visit as soon as Quinn gets home—if Quinn is up for visitors of course.

She doesn't sleep well that night. She tosses and turns, her room slipping into gray and back out again. When she finally does fall asleep for good, it's to dread in her heart and it makes her dreams all the more tangible.

The next morning, she wishes she had class to distract her, but OSU Lima is also taking its spring break. She cleans obsessively instead, interrupted only by a text from Santana.

" _You and Quinn can't disappear into gayland the whole time she's home. Britts and I gots to get our Quinn time too."_

Rachel would normally find such a message a combination of exasperating and exhilarating. Now, it just sends another flair of apprehension through her.

After an exhaustive cleaning spell, she moves into the kitchen and sets out the ingredients to make cookies. She's elbow deep in batter in 15 minutes tops and shortly has the first batch in the oven. During the second batch, she pauses to throw together some lunch, but then it's right back to the cookies.

She just finishes cleaning up when the phone rings. Her heart jumps into her throat, but she picks up her cell, clearing out the anxiousness from her voice.

"Hey Quinn!"

"Hi," Quinn says. "I'm home. You can come over if you're available."

"Of course! I'll be right there."

As soon as they exchange goodbyes, Rachel's nerves fray like the edge of old, unhemmed shirt. She buries her face in her hands composing herself in the temporary refuge. She takes a moment further, drinking a glass of water, eating (testing!) one of her cookies. It helps. She sweeps the rest of the cookies into Tupperware and walks out the door, trying not to think about what she's about to do.

She plays music as loud as she can in the car on the way over to Quinn's. She's certain she'll get a noise complaint from the neighbors, but, right now, she really doesn't care. The music dies when she turns the ignition off, pulling to stop in front of Quinn's house, but her anxiety crescendos.

It all disappears when Quinn opens the door, looking pale, but very much alive. Rachel's nerves completely disappear as she remembers just how terrified she was. Talking to Quinn on the phone tempered her fear, but seeing her in person for the first time since the infections brings it all back.

Rachel's emotions twist and turn, and she's not sure whether to laugh or cry as a combination of relief and alarm and  _love_  crash into her.

"Oh,  _Rach_ ," Quinn says softly.

Rachel collapses into her arms, Tupperware of cookies dropping on floor forgotten. "I'm so glad you're okay. I was so scared," she says brokenly. She clings to Quinn, fingers pulling the material of her shirt taut and feeling her chest rise and fall with each breath. Quinn tightly holds her back.

Rachel eventually pulls away, wiping at her eyes as she does. She glances down, suddenly bashful at her lack of control and spots the Tupperware on the floor. "Oh no!"

"They're in tact for the most part. They'll still taste the same," Quinn says reassuringly

"Quinn, I couldn't possibly give you these cookies! They've been ruined by my carelessness!" Rachel says with dismay. She bends down, picking up the container to see that a number of the cookies have crumbled into pieces.

"For one, you didn't have to make them," Quinn says. "For another, now that you have, these are perfectly fine and I'm happy to take them as is."

"I insist! I can't give you these! They're not perfect!"

Quinn purses her lips, hands on her hips. Rachel thinks she looks like she's trying to hold something back. Rachel stares her down, unwilling to give way.

"You made them. I know they're delicious," Quinn says finally. "It would be cruel to take them from me because a couple of them happened to break into pieces. Just because something has been broken doesn't mean everything that makes it special automatically vanishes. You know that for a fact."

Rachel's eyes meet Quinn's gaze, and she shivers at the intensity lying there. She gives in.

"While I wonder if we are indeed still talking about cookies, I acknowledge your argument and that you make a fair number of logical points."

"So I get to keep them," Quinn says with a goading grin, holding out her hand.

"You know very well that's exactly what I meant by that statement," Rachel says, handing the Tupperware over and then crossing her arms.

"Come inside before you make a scene. Our neighbors are nosey enough as is," Quinn says. She moves, standing to the side of the front door. That's when Rachel really notices the physical signs of Quinn's hospitalization. She moves stiffly, slowly, lacking the fluid grace and purpose that she would normally effortlessly hold.

Rachel hovers as Quinn walks into the living room, finally sinking onto the couch. "How are you feeling?" she asks worriedly as she gingerly sits down next to her.

"I've been better," Quinn says, but her smile is unfazed. "I've been much worse too. I'm really just kind of sore all over. I slept pretty much the entire drive last night and today. I feel kind of bad for mom."

"Where is your mother?"

"Grocery store. We have literally nothing besides Brita-filtered water in the fridge."

"You have those cookies now," Rachel says.

"I do. And thank you again for them. You certainly didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to give you something kind of nice to welcome you home after…everything," Rachel says, staring at Quinn.

"Don't look at me like that," Quinn says softly.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm dying."

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut as the room submerges into gray. The words physically hurt, like her heart is ripped from her chest leaving a bloody, gaping hole. "Don't say that," she murmurs.

"Rachel, I'm  _okay_. I promise. I'm still here," Quinn says, soothingly.

Rachel can hear the concern in Quinn's voice, and she hates herself for it. Quinn isn't supposed to be worrying about her. Rachel wasn't the one in the hospital with a kidney and blood infection. She starts as a soft, warm hand grabs her own, unclenching her fist and threading fingers through hers. She opens her eyes again, looking at Quinn, taking her in. She breathes.

"I'm dropping out of Tisch," she says suddenly, firmly.

Quinn is utterly still for a moment. Rachel's heart pounds in her chest, but it's out there now and she can't take it back. She admires the smooth line of Quinn's jaw, the fine arch of her cheekbones, the curve of her lips, and the golden splash of color in Quinn's eyes—taking it all in because this could be her last chance.

"What?" Quinn says finally. The word is harsh and loud. "Don't be ridiculous. No you're not."

Rachel draws in a breath, squaring her shoulders, but very aware that Quinn's hand is still tangled in hers. "Yes I am. I have—"

"I know what this is about," Quinn says, cutting in. "It's what I was afraid you were going to start thinking of too. This is about the three times that I had to go back to the hospital were all times after you did something that would you get you out of Lima."

"It's not all about you Quinn!" Rachel says. She thinks the lie is painfully obvious.

"Then why?" Quinn demands. Rachel tries to pull her hand free—to stand up, to get away, and get some distance between them so she can  _think_ , but Quinn doesn't let go. "Don't let some stupid coincidences ruin everything you worked so hard for. You belong on Broadway, in New York. And I'm fine. I'll be perfectly healthy again soon."

"Nothing is a coincidence Quinn! You almost died because of me!" Rachel says. She's losing control of the conversation. Quinn is being earnest and logical, and Rachel is rapidly devolving into the unbelievable. Even though she believes it.

She  _knows_  it to be true.

"Your decisions to major in theater, to go to Tisch have nothing to do with my health," Quinn says resolutely. "And even, if for some reason, you think it does—I'm better."

Quinn takes their joined hands and presses Rachel's palm against her heart. Rachel swallows, feeling Quinn's heart beat wildly in her chest and through her shirt. It's terrifyingly intimate and real and true. There's no gray. Only color.

"I'm  _alive_ ," Quinn says simply. "And I have every intention of staying that way. So even if you think there is some weird connection going on, you already told Tisch you're going. And, right now, I'm sitting here on the couch with  _you_."

Rachel flexes her hands, fingers pulling across Quinn's collarbone and feeling the bone and blood and skin before she pulls back. She knows what's true. She knows she's responsible for Quinn's life. For Quinn's death. And here Quinn is, pushing her forward. Unknowingly killing herself by encouraging Rachel to chase the part of her that still dreams of Broadway. Rachel's certain she's being ripped in two.

At the same time… Rachel latches onto Quinn's argument. It makes sense. Quinn  _is_  alive. Rachel, at this moment, remains slated to go to Tisch. The balance between these—between Rachel's future and Quinn's life—still exists.

The scales are even.

It's  _selfish_. But it's also logical that Rachel can go to Tisch without endangering Quinn any further. The scale didn't fully tip this last time, and it's restored itself to equilibrium. Rachel's own heart beats erratically.

"I would hate myself—I would hate it if you didn't get out of here because of me," Quinn says, softly.

Rachel looks down, unable to take Quinn's ardent stare and the weight of her words. "I know this is asking a lot, but trust me when I honestly say that there is something greater at work."

"I trust you," Quinn says, but Rachel can hear the words left unspoken.  _I trust you, and I think you_ believe _something is affecting us_. She can't blame her. Quinn continues, "But the fact is, I'm alive, and you're still enrolled at Tisch. That means something."

"I'm scared," Rachel says. She looks back up, eyes meeting Quinn's. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I want what's best for you."

"That's just it Rachel, I want what's best for you too."

* * *

She doesn't drop out.

It's the hardest decision of her life. She's toying with fate. And fate has proven itself to be far more powerful and real than she ever knew. She's out of her league.

But Quinn and her eyes and her words and her touch. They all tell her to go to Tisch. Become a star.

And Quinn and her physical weakness and her warmth and her heartbeat. They tell her to stop. Stay in Lima and let Quinn live. That should have been enough to make her withdraw, but the fact remains that Quinn is very much alive and Rachel is still enrolled at Tisch.

So she keeps her plans to go to New York, but only after making an absolute promise to herself. She'll attend Tisch. She'll graduate in three years, and she'll get a quiet job outside of theater afterwards. She won't participate in any shows. She won't go the extra mile to stand out. She'll have a quiet three years in New York. It'll be difficult—impossible even for the old Rachel. But she'll preserve Quinn's life. If fate is okay with her going to Tisch, if that keeps the scales balanced, she won't do anything further to threaten their equilibrium.

Rachel has the registrar's office, her academic counselor, and admissions on speed dial just in case.

But Quinn goes back to Yale looking healthy and vibrant, and the days slip by quickly. Final exams breathe down her neck and then pass with ease. Quinn comes home, reinvigorated by her success at New Haven (academically and emotionally). She radiates happiness and contentment far beyond anything high school Quinn ever displayed, and for that Rachel's heart swells and kindles. Their time together is short—a couple of weeks spent watching movies, talking Broadway, and picking up the last few items for her dorm. Quinn is under strict orders from all of her doctors to have a relaxing summer. It's these things that occasionally darken Rachel's thoughts. The gray, the tearing into halves, fate—they remain heavy and encompassing. She stands on a cliff. She teeters on the edge. She can't bring herself to discuss it with Quinn again. Not when she knows Quinn will push her into more at Tisch. Rachel prays the scales remained balanced.

She's packing her car for the move to New York before she can really process it. She's breathless when Quinn shows up to say goodbye. Rachel is familiar with this feeling—the pit of emptiness and longing in her heart, in her chest, in her core. But this time, she's simultaneously fulfilled. It's a happy parting if there ever was one. Quinn is there, with an excited smile, promising to visit her in New York.

Rachel watches her drive away. She aches for Quinn to turn around and come back to her.

She does the trip to New York with her fathers over two days. Mid-afternoon on the second day, they drive up to 721 Broadway. Her summer classes are all general education requirements with NYU, but her heart flutters as they pass by the central Tisch building. They drive on, heading a few blocks over into Greenwich Village where the majority of NYU's campus is found for a self-guided driving tour. Then it's over to East 14th Street where they find her dorm, Palladium Hall.

By the time they finish unloading, she's thankful that NYU is not forcing her to change dorm rooms between the summer and fall session. It's a small thing, but it's a load off her shoulders to not have to worry about moving all over again. NYU finished up their spring finals a couple of weeks ago so it's much less crowded then what it'll be come fall, but there are a number of other students moving in for summer classes. She is a little relieved that she'll have the dorm to herself over the summer.

Her fathers cry once everything is in its place. She fondly thinks they're being kind of ridiculous until she finds herself crying too.

She's lonely that night on her hard dorm mattress. She calls Quinn and falls asleep to a conversation about nothing and everything. Quinn's voice floats around her, soothing and melodic until it's muted by the dreams in gray. She wakes to her phone on the pillow beside her and wonders how long Quinn stayed on the line with her. Her body warms and lightens at the thought, and she rises more refreshed than she believed she would be. Her fathers come over from their hotel, and they have breakfast together. Before they leave to drive back to Lima, they go to the campus bookstore. Rachel gets her books for the summer and her fathers buy her NYU and Tisch paraphernalia. Then they're gone, and she's alone.

She's in New York.

Despite  _everything_ , she made it.

She does not let herself get too excited. She can't by virtue of the why and how she is here, but, at this moment, she's okay with that. While she can never become a famous Broadway star, she did get out of Lima. And apparently fate is okay with that too. It's a compromise she would take any day.

She talks with Quinn almost every day. Rachel finds that she can talk about the city for hours, and Quinn is good listener, prompting her with questions, debating topics with her. Though Rachel does admit that she gets fired up sometimes and forgets to listen in turn. Quinn reads—Rachel thinks she gets through about a book a day—and hangs out with Santana and Brittany. She has stories and stories of stories to tell in turn. Rachel thinks that when she is attentive, she can listen to the timbre of Quinn's voice forever.

She hardly notices the gray anymore. And she no longer feels like she's being torn in half. She feels the closest to whole that she's felt in a long time.

They make plans for Quinn to visit. Before she knows it, she's reached the break between the two summer sessions and Quinn's plane touches down at LaGuardia.

Rachel's certain that if she's any happier, she'll no longer be grounded to the Earth, free to float and fly and disappear into the stars. Quinn's beautiful, flush with life and contentment. Rachel hugs her, and Quinn clings back.

"So is there anything in particular you would like to do while you're here?" Rachel prompts on the subway ride back to her dorm.

"Not really—" Quinn says.

Rachel, excited and unable to help herself, interrupts. "—Okay you never mentioned anything in particular during any of our planning sessions so I took the liberty of outlining a schedule full of things to do." She reaches into her purse, pulling out a small notebook and flipping open to heavily marked up page. "Today, considering that it's late afternoon, I thought—"

This time it's Quinn's turn to interrupt her. Quinn's hands land on hers and gently guide her into closing the notebook. Rachel's mouth closes on its own accord when she feels Quinn's touch. "How about we use that only if we need to? Otherwise, let's just play it by ear," Quinn says.

"Quinn! You can't just play a short trip to New York City by ear! There's so much to do. So much I have to show you!"

Quinn smiles. Rachel thinks there's something a little tight and nervous about it. "Well I hope this isn't my only trip to New York."

"Of course not!" Rachel says quickly. Too quickly. She blushes. She blushes even harder when Quinn's pale cheeks bloom pink too.

"Could you just keep the last night I'm in town open? There's something I want to do that night," Quinn says quietly. There's a bit of hesitance in her voice.

"I'd be happy to," Rachel says. Her interest is piqued, but she doesn't press the issue any further. Quinn is obviously uncomfortable.

* * *

The next few days are some of the happiest that Rachel ever remembers having. They go to the MoMA, explore Central Park, window-shop on 5th Avenue, walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, and enjoy iced coffee at about five different local cafes. At night, they squeeze into her twin bed, limbs tangled, and Rachel's certain that Quinn can hear her heart pounding and the blood rushing through her body.

The final full day that Quinn is in town, they brave Times' Square and the Rockefeller Center. It's sweltering and packed. Rachel's hair gets matted to her head in seconds, and Quinn turns pink from the sun. They head back to Palladium Hall, but stop at a deli along the way to grab a late lunch.

Quinn slumps into her seat and drains her glass of water in about five seconds. Rachel watches, mesmerized as her head tilts back, exposing the column of her throat. She smothers the spike of desire as best as she can, but wonders what Quinn would do if she reached across the table to take her hand. She pictures it then—life dating Quinn. Holding her hand on the streets of New York, kissing her in the half-light of her dorm room, helping her shed her clothes…

She colors. She's in love with Quinn, but she hasn't allowed herself to give much thought to what it would be like to have it reciprocated. She wonders what it means that she's allowing herself to go there in her fantasies now.

"Rachel? Are you okay?"

"What?" Rachel says distantly. She blinks as Quinn's words process. "Oh yes! I am! I'm sorry!"

"Are you sure? You were…um…staring. At me."

"Yes, of course, I was just uh…wondering what it is you have planned for tonight?" she recovers and relaxes against the back of her chair.

Quinn stiffens. "You'll just have to wait and see," she says tightly.

Quinn doesn't budge on the issue no matter how much Rachel pouts. Her features do lighten up, cracking into a smile, and Rachel considers it a victory anyway. They make it back to the dorm and argue about who gets to shower first to wash off the heat of the day. Rachel stomps her foot a couple of times, and Quinn scowls at her before giving in. They spend the rest of the afternoon lounging in the cool space of her dorm watching Netflix. Quinn grows increasingly tense as time passes, and, at about 6:00 p.m., she gets up and walks over to the closet.

Rachel watches curiously as Quinn goes through her clothes before emerging with one of her nicer tops and skirts.

"Can you be ready to go in no more than an hour?" Quinn asks, holding out the clothes. The only sign of her nerves is the slight tremor in her voice and the rigid way she holds herself. Rachel's familiar with the signs though.

"Yes. I suppose you're still not going to tell me what we're doing?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Quinn says cryptically.

Rachel takes her clothes off Quinn's hands and disappears into the in-suite bathroom. Quinn closes the door behind her. Her mind races, wondering what in the world Quinn could be planning. She takes extra care in fixing her hair and applying her makeup. It's only when she finishes that she realizes she feels like she's getting ready for a date. Her heart jumps into her throat, and it does it all over again when she walks out and sees Quinn.

Quinn is in a green summer dress and wedges. She's beautiful. She always is, but something sparks in her chest. The dress hugs Quinn's curves and dips in a low V over her chest. Rachel lingers over the lean muscles in her shoulders and arms, the shape of her calves. She swallows and hopes her leering is not too obvious.

"You're so beautiful."

Rachel's surprised the words don't fall from her own lips, and she hopes she's not blushing too heavily at Quinn's breathless proclamation.

"S-So are you ready to give up the plans for the evening yet?" Rachel says, self-consciously tucking her hair behind her right ear.

"Not quite yet. Be patient and you'll find out soon enough. Are you ready?" Quinn says softly.

"Just a second." Rachel slides into some heels and picks up her purse. Butterflies manifest as Quinn offers her arm. She takes it, sliding her hand over the smooth skin to rest in the crook of Quinn's elbow. Quinn leads her out of her dorm, and onto the sidewalk. She sends the occasional furtive glance to Rachel; otherwise she makes a good impression of a statue. Quinn's honestly nervous—Rachel realizes. Her eyes widen in surprise as Quinn leads her to a waiting taxi. Quinn opens the door for her after exchanging a hushed conversation with the driver.

"After you," Quinn says, gesturing into the cab.

Rachel slides in, questions racing in her mind. She manages to keep them from spilling out, but only just barely.

A soft smile breaks onto Quinn's face once the driver pulls out onto the street. "You're about to go crazy aren't you?"

"Oh Barbra  _yes_!" Rachel exclaims.

Quinn giggles, and it alleviates some of the tension. "You'll see soon enough."

"This is the first taxi I've been in since arriving in New York you know. I can say that I've successfully mastered public transportation during the first summer session."

"Is it really? You know I always picture you singing one of the  _RENT_  songs in the subway, annoying everyone else riding along."

"I hardly believe my singing annoys anyone," Rachel says dryly.

"Yeah, you might be right about that," Quinn says, giving her a shy smile, which Rachel can't help but return, biting her bottom lip.

The taxi pulls to a stop on what seems to be a rather commonplace New York street. There's nothing about it that tells Rachel what they could possibly be doing for the evening. Quinn digs into her purse and pulls out her wallet. Rachel does the same, but Quinn is faster—already handing off cash to the driver.

"Oh, Quinn, let me split that with you," Rachel says.

"No, it's okay. I got it." Quinn flashes her a smile and then quickly jumps out of the taxi. Perplexed, Rachel follows at a more leisurely pace and is surprised too find Quinn hurrying her way to her side of the car. Quinn once again offers her arm, shutting the door behind Rachel.

Rachel takes a moment to let her eyes wander, but Quinn is guiding her along and her attention is quickly drawn back to the street in front of her. They turn a corner, and Rachel forgets to breathe.

_Jacobs_  reads proudly from the vertical sign. A crowd teems in front of the glowing box office. And above the marquee, a black sign holds "Once" printed in cursive and entwined with a guitar. Rachel's heart picks up as Quinn leads her into the crowd. She's speechless as Quinn procures two tickets from her purse and hands them over to the attendant. The scanner beeps affirmatively twice and then she's inside  _a real Broadway theatre._

Rachel's flabbergasted. She thinks her eyes have probably reached about twice their normal size. Quinn steps back, allowing her space to turn and marvel. Rachel instead looks back at Quinn whose gaze is warm and soft underneath her long lashes. " _How_?"

"I know you've never seen a show, and I thought it could be something we could do…together. I got tickets as soon as we picked out a date for me to visit," Quinn says.

"But they're so expensive! And you already paid a lot just to fly up here! Plus all the food and tourist passes we bought—oh Quinn, you're not getting funds illegally somehow are you?" Rachel says. She feels incapable of stringing together logical sentences.

Luckily, Quinn chuckles and takes no offense. "I told you mom paid for the plane ticket. And I've also told you that mom's lawyers managed to wrangle Russell into supplying me with a hefty allowance while I'm in undergrad. I don't particularly want his money, but I'm not going to turn it away either. So please don't worry about it. …I'm more than happy to spend it on you."

"So you bought us tickets to see  _Once_? Quinn, do you know how much I loved the soundtrack!?"

"Yes," Quinn smiles. "Yes I do."

"And we're getting ready to watch it? Here in Bernard B. Jacobs Theater. A Broadway theater."

"That's the idea."

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" Rachel says. She rushes into Quinn, throwing her arms around her neck. "You're…you're  _amazing_! Thank you!"

Quinn's arms tighten around her, and Rachel shivers in the embrace. And then softly, so softly Rachel can barely hear it, Quinn says, "Anything for you."

The words resonate in her, settling somewhere in her center. It sounds out like a cathedral bell, a thunderous tone that chimes through her body.

Rachel draws back from the hug, her eyes on Quinn's darkening hazel. It's magnetic. Hypnotic. She's engulfed.

Until another patron brushes against her and the world comes alive again. She blinks, but doesn't move away. She arches forward, and presses her lips to Quinn's cheek, grazing the corner of her mouth. She lets her right arm travel the length of Quinn's neck, over her shoulder, down her arm, until she reaches her hand, which she takes in her own. A pretty blush dusts over Quinn's face as Rachel settles back down on her toes.

Rachel's heart swells and warms. Her stomach twists. And all she knows is that she wants to press her lips against Quinn's skin again and again.

She settles for squeezing her hand instead. Rachel floats, pulling Quinn with her. They settle into their seats (in the orchestra!) after just a minor mishap once Rachel realizes she has no idea where their seats are located.

The rows fill around them, and the chords of the musicians warming up can be heard over the chatter of the crowd. Rachel takes it all in, but mostly she takes in Quinn. Quinn who has done so much for her, has been so patient, has pushed her to achieve more, and wants to do  _anything_ for her… She hopes. And she thinks. Now that she's in New York, now she's doing something besides sitting in Lima torn between two desires, two callings, two Rachels, she allows herself to dream something she never allowed herself to breach before—Quinn as her girlfriend, her partner. Rachel's heart pounds.

Her thoughts only darken when she thinks about telling Quinn that she'll do anything, that she has already done something impossible, for Quinn too.

It's the smallest sliver of gray in what has otherwise been celebration of color.

The musical is wonderful. There was no chance it wouldn't be considering the circumstances. Rachel emerges from the theater with stars in her eyes and singing "Falling Slowly" under her breath. Quinn glows, incandescent alongside her.

"That'll be you one day," Quinn says with conviction and assuredness that  _hurts_.

But even the reality of the fact that it never will is not enough to darken the skies that have been this night. Rachel instead leans into Quinn, silent, basking in the warmth and feel of her.

"Are you hungry?" Quinn asks. "There's a bar and coffee lounge right around the corner that has pretty favorable local reviews. They have sandwiches and salads. Vegan friendly, I promise."

Rachel doesn't doubt that it is. Quinn has proven time and time again that she respects Rachel's interests and lifestyle. She takes her hand, and the corners of Quinn's lips tilt upward. "That sounds great," Rachel says.

The place is only a block away. It's half full, and considering the late Sunday hour, Rachel takes that as a good sign. It's well lit with an unfinished ceiling. She feels like a proper New Yorker when they settled into a small two-person table in the corner after placing an order with the bartender.

"So you enjoyed it?"

"As much as I ever dreamed I would," Rachel says honestly. They both know that means she loved it. "But what about you?"

"Oh, I really liked it. The music of course is wonderful, but I really enjoyed the use of a minimalistic set design. It let the actors embody the space, and frankly, both were up to the task."

"I didn't ask for a dissertation Quinn," she teases.

Quinn purses her lips and arches an amused eyebrow. "I enjoyed it. Happy?"

"Yes," Rachel smirks. She evens out her tone before continuing, "The story is really sad in a way."

"Because the two protagonists don't end up together?"

"Yes. But it's also rather uplifting too. They have an obvious attraction to each other that they never pursue, but they ultimately make each other better. So it's sad they never become true partners, yet it's a wonderful thing to show two people affecting each other so positively," Rachel says. She doesn't stop to rethink anything as she continues. She just goes. "I think there are a lot of couples out there who don't really make each other better. They're together out of selfish or physical reasons, and maybe just because it's easier."

"That doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. Our society is built to favor married couples as the ideal social construct."

"I tried to be with someone for selfish reasons… Finn never made me better." Rachel says. It amazes her how easy it is to admit how big of a mistake being with Finn was now. She breathes and her heart tells her to leap. "You've made me better."

Quinn's gaze is heavy. "I think that's one of the many things that love is composed of. Granted, I also don't believe love can ever be truly defined. So many people have tried."

A waitress appears with their food then, and Rachel's certain that the interruption was the only way to break the hold of Quinn's gaze. The conversation turns lighter as they eat, but Rachel feels Quinn's stare on her. It doesn't help that she can't keep her eyes off Quinn either. When their eyes meet across the table, one of them always ducks away. Yet they constantly meet again.

Rachel wants nothing more than to push the table out of the way and kiss Quinn Fabray like there is nothing else in the universe. She aches to touch her, to be close to her, and somehow the current distance is too much. She wonders if the tension is obvious to anyone else because Rachel thinks the space between them is charged enough to provide energy to the entire establishment.

Quinn sweeps up the bill as soon as the waitress lays it down, and Rachel can only scramble to keep up as Quinn pays with the bartender. Quinn smiles into the contrived glare Rachel puts on, and it leaves her completely disarmed.

"I'm paying next time," Rachel says without thinking.

"There's a next time?" Quinn says. Rachel doesn't miss the edge of hopefulness to her voice.

"I hope so," Rachel says meaningfully.

She's not sure who takes the other's hand first this time. It doesn't matter. All that matters is that their fingers are entwined together. They walk back toward the theater because she wants to take at least one photo to remember the night. She was too overwhelmed to do so before. The marquee glows and shines, welcoming their approach.

Rachel asks the first respectable looking person passing by to take a picture of them. He acquiesces and she quickly stands at attention pressed against Quinn. She thanks him and sends him on his way afterwards before pulling up the picture on her phone. Quinn looks over her shoulder, taking in the photo too. She feels rather than sees Quinn smile at the picture of them together, and that's all it takes to turn into Quinn and kiss her.

Quinn's breath hitches, and then she sort of sighs into the kiss. Finally, she kisses back. And it's with ardor that makes Rachel's head spin and body tremble. It's warm and soft and everything Rachel wanted and never knew she needed. She's being kissed after the most wonderful date imaginable on a New York City sidewalk beneath the lights of a Broadway theater. It's a fairytale setting, but all she really cares for is Quinn.


	6. Color

Rachel pushes Quinn against the door, running her hands from Quinn's shoulders down her arms. Their kiss is consuming. Burning. Lips slide against each other. Rachel slips her hands back up, her greedy touch finding purchase on Quinn's neck, jaw, and cheeks. Arms free, Quinn grabs fistfuls of her shirt before deciding that apparently it isn't enough. Rachel's skin leaves gooseflesh as Quinn traces her fingers underneath her shirt and up her back. She presses into Quinn as close as she can, taking her bottom lip between her own.

Quinn angles her head, and the kiss evolves. Rachel hears the low moan back in her throat as Quinn's tongue slides into her mouth. She battles back and shivers as Quinn's fingers rake down her spine. She separates from the kiss, but the idea of stopping doesn't even cross her mind. She draws her mouth down Quinn's jaw as her hands slide lower, over Quinn's collarbone and on to her breasts. Quinn arches into her, head tilted back against the door exposing the column of her throat. Rachel can hear the blood pounding in her ears as she kisses Quinn's pulse, sucking, licking, and nipping at the skin. Quinn's hands find their way underneath her skirt and to her backside.

There's fire in her blood and an inferno raging low in her body. She's impossibly wet, and she aches to touch Quinn to discover if she is too. She finds her hands traveling of their own accord, dipping lower and lower. Rachel's heart pounds, the echo of each beat reverberating through her. She grabs Quinn's hip with one hand and while the other travels down to the hemline of her dress. Rachel's mouth goes dry as she touches the smooth expanse of Quinn's thigh. She travels higher and higher, marveling at the soft warmth that's hers alone to touch. Then she feels the heat before she touches it. She kisses Quinn's collarbone, her mind a haze of want and need and  _Quinn_. Her fingers skim damp cotton.

The world comes back into sharp reality as her wrist is gently grabbed. "I'm—I'm not…" Quinn says breathlessly.

Rachel panics, quickly backing away. "I'm so sorry! I got carried away."

"No!" Quinn says hastily, sweeping forward. She pulls Rachel into her. "It's okay! I'm just—I'm not ready. Yet."

Rachel is quickly filled shame. "And I know that and I crossed physical boundaries. I disrespected you entirely and I can only hope that—"

Any other words are taken from her lips as Quinn kisses her, effectively silencing her and her worries. When Quinn pulls back, Rachel can't help the low hum of contentment that escapes out of the back of her throat.

"Just by saying that, I know you respect me," Quinn says. Rachel eyes flutter close as Quinn smoothes back some of her hair, taking in the gentle touch. "It's not like I didn't get a little carried away too."

They stand like that for a moment, caught in each other's embrace. Just as Rachel thinks she could spend eternity exactly as they are, Rachel's phone chimes. She sighs dramatically, and Quinn chuckles, letting her go. She jumps when Quinn lightly pats her on the ass as they separate. Rachel whirls around pouting to see Quinn smiling innocently. She huffs and turns back to her phone, sitting on her desk, so she can hide her own smile.

She reads the text and colors.  _"U and Quinn done yet? I could hear u 2 going at it."_

She quickly types out a response.  _"Yes. Sorry. Feel free to come back."_

"My roommate," Rachel says by way of explanation. "She could apparently hear us."

Quinn takes a seat on the bed. She blushes, and her jaw tightens. Rachel thinks the dichotomy of those two responses is kind of adorable. She approaches, climbing up on the bed behind her and wrapping arms around her neck. She kisses Quinn's cheek and settles down next to her.

"I know what you're doing," Quinn says.

"Shush. Don't sulk. You know she doesn't really care," Rachel says.

Quinn sighs, shoulders slumping. "Fine. I just still halfway expect people to you know…even after being up at New Haven for over a year."

"Oh Quinn," Rachel says. "I understand. But things are wonderful here. So many people don't even look at us twice when we hold hands down the street. Besides you're the one who kissed me senseless underneath the Jacobs' marquee that night."

"I wonder whatever possessed me to do that," Quinn says dryly. "It's just because she reacted so strangely when you introduced me."

"It wasn't that strange. She was just…surprised. She's completely fine with it. Most people here are. It's amazing," Rachel says. She leans her head against Quinn's shoulder, biting back a smile. "I wouldn't be here without you."

Quinn shifts, wrapping an arm around her. Rachel picks her head back up, meeting Quinn's gaze. She leans in for another kiss when her door swings open. Rachel quickly settles back down into a more innocent position.

"Hi Bee," Rachel says in greeting to her roommate.

"You sure you're done?" Beatrice says. Her roommate, a photography student, has dirty blonde hair, freckles, and big brown eyes that she hides behind glasses. She has a slow drawl that can only come from someone who grew up in the southeast. She can't arch an eyebrow like Quinn—few can—but she gives her a run for her money.

"Yes. Sorry again. We didn't mean to kick you out," Rachel says.

"It's not a big deal. I needed to talk to Sonya anyway so I just went over to her room for a minute."

"About the portfolio?"

"Yeah," Beatrice answers. She gently places one of her bigger cameras on her desk. Rachel knows Beatrice has at least five, but her extent of photography knowledge goes to identifying them by their size. "Speaking of projects, I heard it's audition time in the drama department. I also heard the New Studio has quite a few juicy roles up for grabs this semester."

"Oh?" Quinn says.

Rachel feels Quinn's eyes on her and takes a steadying breath, grounding herself and reminding herself of the  _gray_. It's grown increasingly difficult to remember it. Gray doesn't consume her like it used to. There's so much color and music to her life that she often forgets about it till she dreams. Even then, she more often than not forgets her dreams too.

"Yes. Each of the Tisch acting schools, including mine, are casting roles for their semester performances," Rachel says, purposefully vague.

Quinn arches an eyebrow, and Rachel knows that's not the end of the discussion. She makes distracted small talk with Beatrice, thinking all the while of the roles available in the New Studio on Broadway acting school she was placed in within Tisch. The drama department's curriculum is composed of general education requirements, theatre studies, and—what Tisch really carries a reputation for—professional training. Drama students are placed in an acting school within the department that then guides them through the actual craft of the performance. It's the work that Rachel does with her school, the New Studio on Broadway, that she both loves and hates.

She sometimes forgets, when she's caught up in the heat of the moment, and then it all comes crashing down around her. She has to work to keep her head down—to not volunteer. But the gray only strikes when her peers discuss auditioning for various roles, and the inevitable productions they'll end up in as students at Tisch. The more ambitious ones even talk about off-off-Broadway.

But that's not for her. Not when she's walking such a fine line, and Quinn's life depends on her actions.

She'll do anything to keep Quinn alive.

So she prepares herself for the inevitable conversation they'll have about auditioning. And Quinn brings it up again as they leave her dorm to get dinner, hands intertwined.

"You haven't mentioned anything about auditioning for any roles," Quinn says curiously.

Rachel squeezes her hand and lets go, looking down at her feet. She takes a moment, collecting herself. Quinn wraps an arm around her back, but doesn't say anything else. One of the many wonderful things about Quinn is her patience.

"I'm not ready for it," Rachel says. "It's not that I'm overwhelmed—though admittedly I still slightly am. I mean I'm studying at Tisch. In New York. I have hard time believing that I made it."

"But you did. Because you're a once in a lifetime talent," Quinn says assuredly. There's not a drop of hesitation or anything short of certainty in Quinn's voice. She might as well be reading a fact like that the sun rises in the East.

"I dread the day that you're going to realize that I'm not."

"Nope. It's not going to happen."

Rachel looks shyly back up at Quinn, catching her lower lip between her teeth. "You really believe in me don't you?"

"I wonder what gave you that idea," Quinn says lightly. But her eyes are dark and serious.

Rachel shivers and leans into her as they turn down a side street, getting back to the issue at hand. "I still feel a little lost. A little out of my element." That is  _true_. "I just…I want to take a quiet little background role. I'm still getting used to everything here. The other sophomores all have a leg up on me. I want this semester to catch up mentally and physically."

"Well I don't think any of your peers have a leg up on you by any means, but if that's what makes you comfortable, then I'm more than happy to support you."

Relief washes through her that Quinn is not going to push the issue. "Thank you," she says softly.

"I'm not just with you for your talent Rachel. I want you to be happy. Do you know how happy you make me just by being you?"

"Quinn…" Rachel says, speechless. Her heart swells and the world around her sings and shines, pushing away her worries and fear. In the center of it all is Quinn.

"You've changed my life Rachel. I wouldn't have amounted to anything but a teenaged mother statistic without you keeping me on the right track."

"I love you," Rachel says breathlessly.

Quinn stops in her tracks. And Quinn, without any regard to the people around them on the block, kisses her soundly. She pulls back after a moment, leaving Rachel wide-eyed and stunned at the experience. Quinn rests her forehead against hers, and Rachel's breath is stolen by the fervor in her hazel eyes.

"I love you too."

* * *

During the following week, two things happen of note. She's assigned to the chorus of the New Studio's fall production. Even though it's virtually  _nothing_ , she calls Quinn the night she gets the assignment and asks how she's feeling. Rachel breathes easier when Quinn responds that she's doing fine. The second thing of note is that the professor pairs them up to cover a scene in the musical as a project. They're expected to exchange some dialogue and perform a duet.

She's paired with a fellow New Studio sophomore named Seth. He reminds her of Kurt in a way. He's closer to pretty than to handsome in his face, but he's taller and more muscular.

They agree to meet early next week to rehearse before they're scheduled to perform next Friday morning. Rachel has Quinn practice lines with her over Skype. Both of them insist on being responsible students so trips between New York and New Haven don't happen every weekend. Quinn's a more than adequate scene partner, and Rachel's pleased to find herself falling into character opposite of Quinn without much effort. She may be avoiding attention, but she doesn't want to jeopardize either her or Seth's chances at positive marks.

Seth comes to her dorm for their practice. Rachel reserves one of the music rooms in Palladium Hall. They resolve to perform one read through before making any necessary adjustments or critiques.

Things start smoothly. It's only when they reach the crux of the conversation right before they get into the song that Seth does a bit of a double take, hesitating before his next line. Then, during the song, he performs technically just fine, but instead of acting through the song, he stares curiously at Rachel the entire time.

"What?" Rachel says when the last note of the song dies out.

"You're out of this world. Why are you hiding out in the back of the class?" Seth says.

"O-Oh. Well…I'm a transfer. I'm still getting used to everything," she says, feeding him the same line she gave Quinn.

He shrugs and says, "That's ridiculous. You're the kind of student Tisch dies for, but whatever. I suppose once you get running none of the other girls will ever get a role again so good on you for letting them have a bit of experience."

He smiles charmingly, and Rachel can't help the giggle. "That's really nice of you to say."

"Just being honest. Sometimes it gets me in trouble. Look, this might sound kind of crazy, but give me a second to explain… My boyfriend, Garrett, is directing this entirely student-run production. He's a senior, and he's been working on this original musical with some other seniors over this past summer. They've nailed down the script and the music—well there are only a couple of songs. It's not the first completely student run production at Tisch, but what they're doing is really cool. They've cast most of the parts, but they're still looking for the leads. He's very particular and isn't a big fan of the more talented girls in his class."

Rachel's aware that she's probably looking a little owl-eyed, but that was an explosion of information to take in. "So…you're saying I should tryout for your boyfriend's production?"

"It's not exactly  _his_  production—more of a team effort. But yes," Seth says.

"I'll um…I'll think on it," Rachel says.

Seth smiles. "Great! I'll tell him you'll consider it. He's hoping to have the casting done by next week. I'll email you the script if you want to read through it. I guess we can get back to our project now, though after all  _that_ I'm definitely not too worried about our performance."

True to his word, Seth has the script in her inbox before midnight. It's titled  _Off Course_. Rachel reads over it while lying in bed, listening to Beatrice complain about her portfolio. It's actually a really charming work, about a recent college graduate, Lee, that gets tied up with a wannabe rock star and loses sight of everything else around her. Rachel finds herself enamored with the lead characters and their story. She dwells on it as she waits for sleep to claim her and when her dreams open their arms, beckoning her into their embrace, she sinks into the gray.

* * *

Their class performance on Friday goes extremely well. Seth is practically bouncing off the walls afterwards, and her professor looks at her with new, appraising eyes. Rachel's heart flutters excitedly in her chest.

After class, Seth corners her before she can leave. "So have you thought any more about auditioning?"

"Um…I don't know…" Rachel answers. And she really doesn't. She's running an adrenaline high from her small performance in front of her classmates. And this production…it's not exactly a sanctioned Tisch performance or anything that would even put her into the spotlight. But  _Quinn_ …Rachel is loathed to take any chances on Quinn's health.

"Look, you probably had a busy week. Think about it over the weekend. Talk about it with that Yale girlfriend of yours you're visiting. And—I'm holding you up from getting to your train aren't I?" Seth says.

Rachel had mentioned she would be visiting Quinn this weekend when they first got to class. She smiles both to pacify him and at the thought of seeing Quinn. "That's okay. I have a little time before my train leaves. I promise I'll give you an answer by Monday. Is that fair?"

"Yeah, that should be just fine. I'll make sure Garrett doesn't cast anyone else before then. I might have been promising big things about you."

"Seth, really. You shouldn't," Rachel says somberly.

Seth's smile fades. "Just think about it, okay?"

"I can only promise that much."

* * *

"...I don't know what to do about it. What do you think?" Rachel asks Quinn.

They're lying in Quinn's bed, listening to the rainfall outside of the window. The clock on the nightstand reads 1:12 am. They're alone. Dharmi, who Quinn chose to room with again for sophomore year, had decided to visit her boyfriend at Georgetown over the weekend. Rachel more than likes Dharmi. It's kind of hard not too. On top of being genuinely nice, she took care of Quinn during her blood and kidney infections last spring when Rachel was stuck in Lima. That being said, as Rachel huddles against Quinn's body, she's glad for a bit of privacy.

"I think you should do whatever makes you happy," Quinn says softly into her hair.

Rachel hums and angles her head to kiss Quinn's jaw. She settles back down onto Quinn's shoulder, keeping her arm wrapped around her waist and their legs tangled. "That's not an answer."

"I can't tell you what to do Rachel. You've got to decide that for yourself," Quinn says after moment. "But I will say that maybe this is just what you need to get your feet wet. There won't be much pressure because it is just a student production. It's not going to get the same kind of publicity as a typical Tisch show might either. You do love performing."

"I do. It gives me a high unlike anything."

"Unlike anything hmm?" Quinn says. Rachel squeaks as she's rolled from her side to her back and finds herself staring up at Quinn in the dim light of the dorm. "You sure about that?" Quinn whispers.

Rachel sucks in a breath and nods her head once. Quinn descends on her quickly, taking her bottom lip between her own. Just as Rachel moves to wrap her arms around Quinn's neck and deepen the kiss, Quinn pulls back. "Still sure about that?"

"I think we might have to run more tests to be absolutely positive," Rachel says. Desire pools within her as Quinn subtely licks her lips.

And Quinn kisses her again. Rachel is quick to add her tongue to the kiss this time. She wraps her arms around Quinn, pulling her down. A small whimper escapes the back of Rachel's throat at feeling Quinn's lithe form settle against hers. Rachel shifts and one of Quinn's legs falls between her own. She arches her hips instinctively.  _Want_  runs through her blood, and she aches to touch Quinn, to make her feel impossibly good. Quinn gasps into the kiss as Rachel raises her thigh until it comes in contact with the radiating heat of her center. Then Quinn leans forward slightly, and Rachel feels her nightdress slide upwards until Quinn's own thigh meets the thin cotton of her underwear. Rachel pulls away from their kiss because everything is suddenly much too  _much_.

"Is this okay?" Rachel says, her heart racing and the warmth spiking in the pit of her stomach.

Quinn licks her lips and slowly nods her head. "Yes."

Quinn holds her gaze—her entire being. And they kiss again, slow and sensual. When they part, Rachel thinks she can literally touch the love between them. It's real and tangible.

"I love you," Rachel says, cupping Quinn's face with one hand. She runs her thumb over Quinn's cheek, tracing the bone underneath before dipping to her lips. Quinn reaches up and takes that hand with one of her own, kissing her palm and the tips of her fingers.

"You make me feel things that I never knew I could feel. Things I never thought I would. I wouldn't  _be_  without you," Quinn says reverently.

Rachel shudders as the color blinks into gray for but one small second. She thinks of Quinn's mortality. Of death. Of  _life._  And kisses Quinn as color explodes around her. They rock together and Rachel whimpers as Quinn's thigh presses into her. She feels the damp cloth of Quinn's sleeping shorts against her thigh and marvels that it's  _her_  that gives Quinn that kind of response. She descends into an abyss of want and need. She's certain there's nothing in existence besides Quinn and the way she moves above her.

Quinn bites her lower lip, her arm muscles flexing as she shifts against her. Rachel thinks she's impossibly sexy and wonders as to how impossibly lucky she is that she can call Quinn hers. She snakes her arms around Quinn's neck, pulling her into a kiss that breaks them both. When they part, Quinn lets out a low moan and Rachel rocks into her harder. Again and again and again until Rachel's certain that she's going to die in a flame of pleasure. Quinn's eyes squeeze shut, her mouth gapes, and Rachel watches her come undone, arching and shuddering with a gasping breath. And Rachel's falling apart even as Quinn settles, warmth bubbling over into a blaze that takes her body. Color explodes behind her eyes, and she distantly feels herself shaking. She holds onto Quinn, clinging to her because otherwise she knows she'll lose all sense of self as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through her.

When she finds herself again, Quinn is still holding herself above her. "Quinn," she says. "Come here." She pulls Quinn down so that she's the mirror image of where Rachel was before all of  _that_.

"You would be demanding," Quinn says lazily. Her body relaxes and molds itself into Rachel's, and they lay together in the quiet night of New Haven. Rachel runs her hand mindlessly through Quinn's hair, humming softly.

"That was amazing," Rachel says.

"I never knew it would be like that," Quinn says. "I never thought it could be like that. And we didn't even do…um…other things."

Rachel giggles. "Like?"

"Don't make me say it."

Rachel doesn't tease her any further and instead resumes her humming. She knows that sex is not an easy or natural subject for Quinn. Though, based off her experiences, she certainly thinks Quinn is a quick study. Her mouth dries and her heart races at the thought of what more they can and will experience together. Tonight had been unforgettable—the image of Quinn riding out her orgasm is one that she'll never forget—and they didn't even remove their clothes.

"Quinn?" Rachel says after a moment. "It was special to me too.  _Everything_  I have with you is special."

"I never thought—never dreamed—you would ever want me like I wanted you. I was in denial. I was a coward. I was resigned. But we're here. We made it, and we can live everything we ever dreamed of together."

Rachel feels weightless and unencumbered. Quinn makes her feel as if she can do anything. The power that Quinn gives her is as otherworldly as the gray of her dreams. And she wishes she had the courage in turn to tell Quinn that the future she dreamed for herself will never be real. The scales must be kept in balance.

This student production,  _Off Course_ , is but a minor deviance. It's not even a step. It's a sideshow attraction.

Something that can make her  _and_  Quinn happy.

* * *

She auditions on Monday in one of the Tisch classrooms. Seth's boyfriend, Garrett, huddles with his team of fellow Tisch seniors after she's done. Rachel immediately loves them. They remind her of an even more eclectic version of  _RENT_ 's characters—just with some obvious monetary differences. Kurt has given her an eye for designer clothes over the years, and she's pretty sure Garrett is wearing Diesel jeans while the sole girl in the group wears a suspiciously custom-appearing leather jacket under her ratty scarf.

"Would you mind doing another scene for us?" Garret says after the hushed voices go silent.

"No problem," Rachel says with more confidence than she feels. "Do you have a particular preference for which scene you would like me to tackle?"

"Try the part where Lee comes home to find that Wiley has skipped town. That okay? Do you need to review the scene first?"

"No, I memorized it," Rachel says. She winces after saying it, wondering if it makes her sound too desperate for the role.

"Great!" Garrett says. "Whenever you're ready."

Rachel takes a breath and settles into Lee. Wiley has left her with nothing but empty promises and empty kisses after taking her money, her charity, and her dignity. Lee's angry at first, but not heartbroken. The anger melts into sadness and cruel teasing because Wiley is never going grow up and take responsibility for anything. He'll chase his rock star dream and never get anywhere because there is nothing that makes him special. She brings Lee's monologue to a close on a triumphant and comedic note as Lee resolves to reclaim her life away from Wiley.

When Rachel drops Lee and becomes herself again, the first thing she notices is that Garrett and the girl in the leather jacket have adopted wide smiles. The other three seniors nod their heads when Garrett turns to look at them.

"Will you please, please, please be our Lee?" Garret says, jumping to his feet and approaching her. "We've been looking forever, and you're perfect. Seth was right."

Rachel blinks in surprise. "Oh. Oh! Really? Just like that? There's no one else you want to audition?"

"We've auditioned everyone worth something and a few not worth anything. You are completely perfect."

"This is—wow. This is really quick," Rachel says. In her experience—and OSU at Lima doesn't count—this is not how auditions work. No matter what Seth said, she didn't think she would actually get the role either. But Garrett is looking at her expectantly, hands raised up into fists at his chest and buzzing with energy. Rachel recognizes passion when she sees it, and Garrett has it in spades. She thinks about Quinn. She thinks about how happy Quinn will be for her, and she thinks about how no matter Garrett's excitement, this little musical  _doesn't mean anything_. "I'll be happy to take the role."

"Yes!" Garrett cheers, his arms shooting up into the air. Whoops of excitement follow from the rest of his team, and Rachel finds herself grinning along with their enthusiasm.

"So when can I expect rehearsals to begin?" Rachel says quickly. She wants to get all the necessary information as soon as possible and get out of there because she  _needs_  to call Quinn.

"We've already been rehearsing actually. But you can start tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow?" Rachel says in mild surprise.

"Is that a problem," Garrett says quickly. Worry fills his eyes, and Rachel is once again touched by his enthusiasm and dedication.

"No, that's fine. This is all just happening so fast," Rachel says, digging her phone out of her bag.

Garrett grins widely. "Don't worry. We're a nice bunch for the most part. We have rehearsals in room 2050 from 8:00 pm till we're dead on our feet. Now get out of here and call that Yale girlfriend of yours that I've been hearing all about."

"I take it Seth told you all of my secrets?" Rachel says. She picks up her bag, holding her phone in her hand, ready to call Quinn.

"Maybe not all of them," Garret says. "See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," Rachel says. The call to Quinn is ringing through before Rachel crosses the threshold of the door.

"Hey Rach," Quinn says, and Rachel can hear the smile in her voice.

Rachel smiles into her phone in response, heart light and hopeful. "I got the part!"

"Just like that?"

"Yes."

"Congrats! I'm so proud of you! Not that there was any doubt! When do you start?"

"Tomorrow. They've already been holding rehearsals. I'm…Quinn, I'm excited," Rachel says breathlessly. She doesn't want to be. She can't become attached to the stage. To the thrill of performing.

"You should be! And…" Quinn says, her tone sobering, "Before you ask, I just want you know that I'm  _fine_."

"You're certain?" Rachel says quickly.

"Yes," Quinn says. "I'm fine. I feel great."

"Thanks for letting me know," Rachel says. "I know it seems ridiculous, but—"

"You believe something's at work. I know," Quinn says not unkindly.

"Will you let me know the moment you feel anything that might physically compromise you? And I mean anything at all. A headache, a sore throat,  _anything_."

Quinn sighs, but says, "Yes. I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

* * *

The rest of the semester rushes by. Fall break comes and goes. She sees Santana, Brittany, Kurt, and others in Lima. Some are surprised at her and Quinn's relationship. Others are not. She blinks, and it's November. Over Thanksgiving break, she takes a breath and holds Quinn's hand as they tell Ms. Fabray about their relationship. She takes it well, better than either them could have ever hoped and demands that Rachel call her Judy. Rachel blinks again, and it's December.

Classes keep her busy, and rehearsals for  _Off Course_  dominate much of her time. When she's not in class or rehearsals, she spends much of her free time with Beatrice or Seth, both of whom have become good friends. Then of course, there's Quinn who always,  _always_ , dominates her thoughts. Their kisses and touches only grow more desperate, and Rachel finds her blood running hot, warmth pooling her center at almost any thought of Quinn. But they have yet to progress further physically than that night in Quinn's dorm. Needless to say, it has become a staple of their relationship, and each time Quinn comes, Rachel knows she's never seen anyone more beautiful. She aches for more.

She makes it through finals without much difficulty. Her primary professor at the New Studio gives her an end of the semester review, writing that he wants to see much more from her from here out. Rachel quickly squashes the disappointment in her gut. She can't. But how do you tell your professor you can't afford to give anything  _more_ because you made a deal with Fate to make sure the girl you loved  _lived_.

_Off Course_  is set to play for one night between the end of finals and Christmas after Garrett gets everyone agree to hold off on going home. They perform in one of Tisch's smaller performance halls. The crowd is mostly friends and family that could make it in for the holidays. Her dads visit the city for the performance, and Quinn comes straight down from New Haven too of course. Rachel peeks out from behind the curtain to see them sitting together in the front row.

Her fathers are in sweaters and khakis, but Quinn—Rachel sucks in a breath, feeling her heart beat quicken—Quinn's clothed in a little black dress. It shows off her pale shoulders and collarbone. Her hair is left down, tendrils falling to her shoulders. Rachel watches, stunned by Quinn, as her red lips curve into a smile at something her fathers say.

Rachel feels someone approach behind her and spares a glance to see that Seth is the one invading her space.

"Shit, if I was straight, I would be all over that," he says.

"You've seen her before Seth. Stop ogling her!" Rachel demands, drawing back fully behind the curtain.

"I'm gay! And I've never seen her dressed quite like that. You stop ogling her!"

"She's my girlfriend!"

"So? You should still ask permission!" Seth says. Rachel knows he's being difficult on purpose.

"Oh my god, I am not having this conversation with you right now. I have to prepare! And you're supposed to be recording everything tonight so you go prepare!"

"You're already in costume," Seth says. "And I have ten minutes before the curtain rises!"

She ignores him, marching away. She doesn't need to prepare anymore, but she does feel the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. She's as ready as she's going to be, but she figures it can't hurt to go through her lines in her head all over again.

The musical goes unbelievably well. The audience laughs during the comedic moments and is silent and still during the dramatic ones. Rachel hardly notices, wrapped up in Lee and her journey in shedding Wiley's deadweight. At the end, the crowd stands, clapping wildly. Their claps and cheers travel through her, and sending her heart pounding.

But Rachel only has eyes for Quinn.

Once the applause dies down, the performance hall quickly cedes to informality as the cast spills from the stage into the audience. Everyone involved in the production rushes to intermingle with their friends and family. Rachel makes a beeline for Quinn and her fathers but gets caught in the tide as patron after patron stops to tell her how much they enjoyed her performance. She's overwhelmed.

"Very impressive Ms. Berry," comes a voice from her side.

She turns to see her acting professor from the New Studio, and her mouth drops in shock that he's here. "O-Oh, thank you!" she says, recovering.

"I'm glad I came. Garrett is a very promising director—hence the number of faculty here tonight," her professor says. Rachel hadn't even noticed. "I can't play favorites, but I think you're an even more promising talent. See you next semester."

"Bye," she says faintly. He leaves her disoriented and flustered. She had no idea the audience would hold anything more than family and friends.

Quinn finds her then, and whatever mix of adrenaline, excitement, and dismay that came from seeing her professor is erased by the sheer contentment of having Quinn in her arms.

"You were wonderful," Quinn says, drawing back from their embrace. Her hazel eyes are shining, and in her hand, forgotten, is a bouquet of red roses.

"You're stunning," Rachel says by way of greeting. "You didn't have to dress up for me."

Quinn bites her lip, looking down with a blush crossing her cheeks. "I wanted too," she says. Then her eyes widen and she lets out a small gasp. "I almost forgot! Here, these are for you."

Quinn holds out her hand with the bouquet, and Rachel gently takes them, making sure to let her fingers caress over Quinn's hand in the process. "They're beautiful," she says.

Her eyes meet Quinn's, and Rachel is rocked by the love and desire within her gaze. Quinn smiles softly, and Rachel leans into her touch as Quinn's right hand comes to rest against her face.

"Baby girl!" a booming male voice that can only be her dad's charges through the moment. "You were amazing!"

Rachel squeals as her dad picks her up in his excitement, spinning her in a circle. When she's set back down, it's only to be wrapped up in her daddy's arms. She catches Quinn smiling beautifully over his shoulder.

When her daddy finally releases her from the hug, she's surprised to see that Garrett has joined her crowd. With him is an unfamiliar man in a dark suit and skinny black tie. A flashy silver watch is adorned on his wrist and his shoes shine almost with a light of their own.

"Rachel! You were everything I hoped for! Not that I expected anything less after seeing you in rehearsals, but still! It was perfect!" Garrett says, smiling widely and throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she says politely, sending a discrete, bemused smile to Quinn. "I know it's not much coming from me, but I thought your directing choices were brilliant."

"Thanks," Garrett says. He claps the man next to him on the shoulder. "Rachel, I'd like you to meet my uncle Mason. Mason this is Rachel."

Mason offers his hand and a blindingly white smile. Rachel shakes his hand and is a little surprise to find his grip warm and welcoming. His plainly expensive clothes and suave sophistication made her uneasy, but his handshake and eyes are kind.

"It's a pleasure Miss Berry. I promised my sister I would look after her boy while he was in New York and as part of that he drags me into his projects. I think in some jurisdictions they call that taking advantage of the situation," Mason says, shooting a wry smile at Garrett. "But I can't tell my big sister 'no' for anything. So here I am, and am I glad I made it. You have a lot of potential Miss Berry."

"Thank you sir," Rachel says hesitantly, her curiosity spiked. Mason is obviously no normal theater attendee.

"Please take my card. If I don't hear from you within two days, I'll get Garrett to give me your contact information anyway," he says, sliding a shiny cardholder from inside his suit jacket. He flicks a card out and offers it with a warm smile. As he does, his phone rings with a jaunty tune from one his pockets.

Rachel takes the business card in her free hand as Mason apologizes, fishing his phone out with his other hand. The card reads "Mason Thorpe" and provides an email and phone number, but there's no other identifying information. Not even a logo. She flips it over, but it's as unforthcoming on the back as it is on the front. When she looks back up, Mason has sidled away talking into his phone. Garrett accompanies him, but he casts a glance back to her. When she holds her hands up in a dramatic display of confusion, he merely sends her a big smile and a thumbs up.

"That was interesting," she says perplexed.

"That it was baby girl. He was certainly charming, but he did sound like he knew what he was talking about. After all, there's no one more talented than you! So, how about some dessert? Our treat to celebrate!" her dad says.

Rachel looks to Quinn who shrugs with half a smile. But there's some sort of tension around her eyes, in her shoulders, and Rachel's heart drops in sudden distress. She's next to Quinn, leaning into her personal space in her next heartbeat.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly.

Quinn swallows heavily and exhales. Her eyes flicker in their focus before coming back to meet her gaze. "I'm—I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Rachel says anxiously.

"Promise," Quinn says much more decisively. "I promised I would tell you any time I felt ill. I'm keeping to my word, and right now I feel fine."

"Okay…" Rachel says, still unconvinced, but trusting Quinn. She decides to play it safe and take Quinn back to her dorm for some rest. "Dads, I think Quinn and I are going to head on back. Meet you for lunch tomorrow?"

"That's fine. That means more cheesecake for me."

" _Hiram_."

"Don't  _Hiram_  me Leroy. Anyway, we'll call you mid-morning?"

"That sounds like a plan," Rachel says. Her dads hug her and Quinn goodbye. They speed on out the door, dodging the people still remaining in the performance space. Real New York cheesecake is no doubt featuring big in their immediate future.

"You got everything?" Quinn asks as they leave.

"Let me get my bag, and then I'll be ready. I'll get Seth to sit with you while I'm gone. If I can find him…" She stands on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd for Seth or Garrett. She's brought back down to her heels when she hears Quinn chuckling. "My height disadvantage does not exist for your amusement Quinn."

But hearing Quinn's laugh eases her worries somewhat.

"I promise I'm fine. Just go grab your bag. I'll wait right here," Quinn says, repressing a smile.

Rachel purses her lips. "Fine. Shout really loudly if you need anything. And call 911. Or do both."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Go. You won't even be gone for a minute."

Rachel harrumphs, but she leaves Quinn side feeling much better about the state of Quinn's health considering that she's still able to laugh, roll her eyes, and be a complete tease.

When Rachel returns from backstage with her bag over her shoulder, Quinn is sitting at the edge of one of the rows, staring off into space. Rachel uses this opportunity to observe her girlfriend. It amazes her how much calling Quinn her girlfriend still sends a thrill down her spine—that is, when she's not busy defending Quinn's honor from Seth.

There are times when she looks at Quinn—really  _looks_ at her— and she's so beautiful that it hurts. It's an ache thriving and singing in Rachel's heart. Quinn's also incredibly sexy without trying. It's the way clothes fall on her, the way she moves—graceful and athletic. She's a song on a permanent crescendo. It drives Rachel out of her mind with desire.

Quinn spots her and, even though it's only been a couple of minutes, her eyes light up and a small smile blossoms across her face. Rachel's heart beats frantically as Quinn stands, watching the dress ripple around her form. She licks her lips and distantly hears Quinn speaking.

"I'm sorry?" Rachel says, coming awake from her sudden daze.

"Pay attention Berry," Quinn says smirking and threading her fingers into Rachel's. "All I said was that I'm fine and you're ready so let's get out of here."

They both slip into their coats and make the trip back to Palladium Hall. Quinn's tense again, but her gait is steady and her eyes are bright so Rachel refrains from asking her how she's feeling. They reach her dorm, and it's the quieter than it ever has been. NYU dorms are thankfully open throughout winter break so there was no worry over staying extra days after her exams were over. She knows there are a few other students who are lingering here during break too, but overall their presence is hardly noticeable.

Rachel unlocks her room and flips on the lights. She lets her bag drop to the floor and slips out of her coat, throwing it onto Beatrice's bed to deal with later.

"I'm going to wash up," she says. She slides into the in-suite bathroom aware of Quinn slowly taking off her coat behind her.

When she emerges, she's surprised to find that Quinn has yet to change out of her dress. She's even more surprised to find Quinn pulling a bottle of champagne out of her mini-fridge.

"Quinn, where did you get champagne?" Rachel says.

"I had a friend pick it up for me, and I brought it here when I left New Haven. It's cold. I put it in the fridge before we left," Quinn says. She hesitates, turning the bottle absentmindedly in her hands. "I thought we could celebrate your performance."

Rachel smiles shyly. "That sounds lovely. Thank you Quinn."

Quinn effortlessly uncorks the bottle and pulls two glasses from Rachel's shelf. "I know it's not a champagne flute, but you'll have to forgive me for overlooking that particular issue," she says as she hands a glass off to Rachel. She raises the glass in her own hand, looking at Rachel with dark, encompassing eyes. "To you, Rachel."

"To us," Rachel says softly. She takes a sip, her eyes never leaving Quinn's. The champagne goes down surprisingly smooth. She hasn't developed a taste for wine yet, but she can tell the difference between good and bad champagne. "I have a feeling you spent way too much money on that champagne."

Quinn steps into her space. "Probably. I had no idea what to tell my friend to get. But I'm pretty sure I also told you not to worry about money."

"Regardless of the allowance you have your disposal, it does not mean you should make arbitrary and unnecessary purchases. Besides, I find successful money management to be an attractive characteristic."

"Rachel?" Quinn says, leaning in close.

"Yes?" Rachel manages to get out as her pulse quickens at Quinn's nearness.

"Shush," Quinn says gently before kissing her softly.

Quinn backs away from the kiss before Rachel can evolve it further. Given that she's still holding half a glass of champagne it's probably for the best. Quinn turns around, setting her glass on the desk and then looks over her shoulder.

"Would you unzip me?" Quinn asks.

The words seem completely innocent, but Rachel feels heat wash through her. She unsteadily sets her own glass down. Her shaky steps toward Quinn make Rachel wonder if she forgot how to walk. She runs a hand down Quinn's back and kisses the curve of her shoulder and neck. She rues leaving Quinn's smooth skin unattended, but pulls back to take the zipper in hand. She slowly,  _adoringly,_  draws the zipper down until the edge of Quinn's bra appears, black and lacy. Rachel steps back, fumbling for her drink as Quinn angles an arm around to pull the zipper down completely.

Rachel takes a big sip of champagne as the top of black underwear appears. Quinn turns back around, and Rachel stops breathing as Quinn's dress slips from her shoulders, pooling on the floor.

Quinn stands before her clad only in a matching black bra and panties. There's so much pale skin, and all of it begs to be touched. The tops of her breasts. The line running down the middle of her abdomen. The apex of her thighs.

"Q-Quinn?" Rachel says, surprised she can find her voice.

"I'm ready," Quinn says slowly. "Being with you is all I can ever think about. You've been so patient and respectful, and all I want to do is show you how much I love you."

Rachel approaches her reverently. She aches to touch, to kiss, to caress the smooth skin before her. She takes a shuddering breath instead and reaches for Quinn's hands. "You're so beautiful. And not just this—the physical. But  _everywhere_ , Quinn. I only want this if it's absolutely what you want too."

"I want this. I want  _you_."

And Rachel breaks.

They meet halfway in a bruising kiss. It's all lips and tongue and teeth, and there are hands everywhere. There's so much to explore. It's more overwhelming than the earlier applause. She aches. She burns. She craves.

Her hands finally settle somewhere for more than a heartbeat. Her left arm wraps around Quinn's neck and her right snakes between their bodies to claim Quinn's breasts. She palms the weight of both, perfect for her hands, before focusing on Quinn's right breast. She feels the hardened nub straining through the thin fabric of Quinn's bra and her heart jumps somewhere into her throat. She rolls the nipple between her fingers, heat crashing through her as Quinn whimpers into their kiss.

Quinn breaks off from the kiss with a gasp, and Rachel feels her hands tugging at her shirt. Rachel raises her arms to facilitate removal. Then Quinn is running her hands up her thighs, skimming under her skirt. Rachel's heart pounds even as Quinn slips back to the outside of her skirt. Quinn's arms wrap low around her, cupping her backside, and pulling their bodies together. Even without a kiss, Rachel's blood pounds in her ears at the intimacy as Quinn's hands caress and squeeze before finally unzipping her skirt. Quinn pulls back, taking her hands to help her balance, and Rachel steps out of her skirt, letting it join Quinn's dress on the floor. Clad in nothing but her underwear and stockings, Rachel is suddenly glad she chose a nice combination today, but Quinn kisses her again and rational thought flies away.

Quinn guides her to the bed, hands on her waist to help settle her on the edge of the mattress. Then she steps away, and Rachel yearns for her touch all over again. She doesn't have to wait long as Quinn kneels between her legs. Rachel's blood boils at the sight, and she's suddenly afraid she'll come apart without Quinn even  _touching_  her.

Quinn takes the edge of her stockings on each leg and gently begins to roll them down. She removes them slowly, methodically, placing kisses on the exposed flesh of her thighs as she journeys downward. Rachel vibrates with need as each kiss scalds itself into her skin and into her throbbing center. The stockings are pulled lower and lower, and the kisses follow their path. It doesn't matter the Quinn is moving away from where she needs her the most—every touch of her lips is electrifying. Finally her stockings are removed, and Rachel's world is a haze of color and song.

She reaches for Quinn—to pull her up for a desperate, needy kiss—but Quinn grabs her hands, kissing her wrist, her palm, and her fingers. Rachel watches, mesmerized as the index and middle finger of her right hand slide into Quinn's mouth. Quinn's tongue swirls around them, and then she sucks, smoldering eyes staring up at her from underneath long lashes. Rachel burns. She throbs. She pulses with need.

Quinn guides her fingers free of the warm, wet abyss. Rachel's only thought is how much she wants to bury her fingers inside of Quinn. To be consumed by the wet heat of Quinn's center. But then Quinn is standing over her, guiding her back onto the bed and leaving Rachel wondering when she lost all control of this encounter.

Rachel feels Quinn's hands trembling as she traces the outline of her bra, and it's enough to bring Rachel out of her haze. Above all, she only wants this if Quinn is comfortable.

"Q-Quinn, are you sure? It doesn't have to be tonight," Rachel whispers into the quiet of her dorm.

"I'm sure. I want you so much Rach," Quinn says. Her voice is steady and soft, and then she hesitates, faltering. "I'm just worried I'm not going to be good at this."

"Oh Quinn,  _no_ ," Rachel says emphatically. Then her next words fall from her lips in a low, husky tone that Rachel wasn't even aware she possessed. "Do you know how... _wet_  you make me with just a glance, a casual touch? You drive me crazy in the best way possible. There's no way you're not going to be remarkable because you're  _you_."

Quinn kisses her again, tongue delving deep into her mouth, and somehow she unhooks her bra during their lip lock too. Rachel helps her slide it off her arms. Then Quinn's lips and tongue are falling down her jaw and neck, over her collarbone and across the top of her chest. Rachel's heart races, and there's no possible way Quinn can't hear it. She whimpers as Quinn palms her left breast with one hand and her lips circle the right. She arches and strains and finally groans as Quinn's mouth lands on her nipple. Quinn sucks the nub, and then swirls her tongue over it.

Her panties are absolutely drenched, and Quinn's tongue is sinful. Rachel burns and burns and burns for more. Quinn switches over to her other breast, and then her hand is wandering, caressing and fondling, its way down her body. Rachel's hips arch of their own accord, seeking contact, friction, something, to soothe the throbbing heat. Quinn's hand brushes her underwear and Rachel hardly has time to breathe before Quinn's cupping her center.

" _God_  Rachel, you're dripping," Quinn says with obvious astonishment, pulling back from her chest. Quinn's voice is low. Unadulterated sex. And Rachel shudders into her touch.

" _Please_  Quinn," she says without thought. "Please." She's begging, she realizes distantly.

But Quinn's eyes darken, something primal and wild sparking in them, and Rachel trembles all over again at the sight.

Quinn sits up on her knees, and Rachel arches her hips and legs up to ease Quinn's task of removing her underwear. Then Quinn is settling back down between her legs, kissing her softly and gently—contrasting with the darkness in her eyes. Quinn pulls back from the kiss, cupping her face with the hand that's not holding her weight above Rachel.

"I love you," Quinn says softly.

And then she's kissing her way down Rachel's chest, over her abdomen. Rachel's heart is hammering. Her body humming and pulsing. And Quinn finally,  _finally_ , touches her. Her fingers stroking her clit as her mouth sucks the skin over her hipbone, no doubt leaving it purpled and bruised. For a second, it's relief, and then the fire below her stomach sparks for  _more_. Rachel thinks she might die.

Because sex has never been like this. Because it's Quinn. And it's Quinn who she wants and needs and loves. It's Quinn setting her body on fire.

Quinn's fingers explore. Her first two fingers sliding effortlessly inside and leaving Rachel gasping wantonly. Quinn's pace is slow, loving, and her thumb circles her clit. Rachel trembles as Quinn pumps in and out; almost afraid to ask for more because she's certain she will fall forever.

"Is this okay?" Quinn asks lowly.

"That's more than okay," Rachel says dazedly.

Then Quinn's fingers curl inside her, and a moan is loosed from the back of her throat. Quinn's thumb stops its circles at the sound, but before she can even think about asking for more, Quinn is bending down in between her legs.

Rachel sweats and twitches, aching for the little bit more to raise the flames higher. Her hips arch upwards, pleading on their own accord. Quinn hovers over her for almost an eternity until finally Rachel feels her shift and something soft and warm latches on to her clit. Rachel's moan is long and keening as Quinn's tongue flicks back and forth. She buries one hand in Quinn's hair. Her other comes to rest on her own breasts, massaging and fingering for even more feeling. Quinn's tongue continues its back and forth strokes relentlessly, and her fingers pump sporadically into her. Rachel forgets to breathe, and the fire somewhere below her stomach blazes bigger and bigger. She tenses, her muscles locking into place.

And then she tumbles over the edge. She cries out as the orgasm hits her violently, pleasure unlike anything she's ever known crashing through her body. It rocks through her, curling her toes and shaking her limbs.

Rachel's weightless. A star suspended in the bright night sky. She returns slowly, safe in Quinn's arms.


	7. Secondhand

When Rachel wakes in the morning, it's to Quinn stirring next to her. Her chest tightens, warmth blossoming in her heart and spreading all the way through her fingers and toes.

It reminds her of walking into the sun on a beautiful day after being stuck inside for hours. It's the first warm day of spring after a long cold winter. It's a carefree summer night, staring up at the stars. It's sipping hot chocolate while curled up in an oversized sweater on the couch.

Then Quinn shifts again, and Rachel feels their bare skin sliding together. It's all  _that_  plus fireworks and the bridge of a song and an electric spark that journeys from somewhere below her stomach.

Plus color. Color that shines and glows and thrills.

Even just waking, Quinn's eyes are incandescent.

Rachel smiles languidly. "Hi."

"Hi," Quinn says, voice thick with sleep. Quinn shifts again, and this time she blushes.

Rachel burrows into her, tucking her head underneath Quinn's jaw and tangling their legs. "I could wake up like this every day."

"I could too," Quinn breathes, wrapping arms around her.

Rachel hums, content. "Last night was amazing. Everything about it was perfect. You most of all."

"Even more than applause?"

"Oh, if you put it that way…" Rachel says teasingly.

"Yes, well don't get used to my attention then," Quinn says.

Rachel smiles at Quinn's grousing and kisses her collarbone. She tightens her arms around Quinn, reveling in the feel of her body. She traces her hand over Quinn's hip and marvels at the pale skin contrasting to her darker tone.

"Trying to have the best of both worlds?" Quinn says moments later.

"Considering my hard work in both areas, I think I can deservedly have both."

"I think you're objectifying me," Quinn says lightly.

Rachel gasps dramatically and then giggles as Quinn's hands tickle over her ribs. "I would never!"

They both fall silent, and Rachel is content to enjoy the moment. She relaxes, and for a few minutes the world consists entirely of her and Quinn. It's only when Rachel feels Quinn inexplicably tensing that she sits up, looking down at Quinn.

"I wasn't exaggerating. Last night was amazing. You…Do you regret it?" Rachel says. She can't help the insecurity slipping into her voice. She's very aware of her bare skin for all the wrong reasons.

"No!" Quinn says quickly and sitting up on her elbows. The blanket falls down to her waist, and Rachel's eyes drift to Quinn's chest. She quickly averts her eyes back to Quinn's face, blushing. Quinn's cheeks darken a shade too, and she shifts but doesn't move the blanket. "I… I just… I won't take last night back for anything. I wanted it so much. I didn't lie about that. It was all I could think about. I'm just still coming to terms with… _um_ …sex. It's one thing to know about it clinically—one thing to know that I have a daughter even for that matter. It's another to pursue it as something special between two people. Does that make sense?"

Rachel smiles, and reaches out to run a hand gently through Quinn's mussed hair. "Yes, it does. Plus there's the matter of learning about your own sexuality."

"Stop," Quinn says, holding back a smile. She drops back down on her back, covering her face with her hands. "I can't take you seriously."

Rachel can't help herself. She runs a hand across Quinn's ribs and up her sternum. Quinn moves her hands, displaying wide eyes, and Rachel smiles softly, welcoming. "I'm glad we get to experience this together."

"You're the only one I want, Rachel."

A thrill of pleasure shoots down Rachel's spine, and heat blossoms below her gut. "Say that again."

"How about I love you, and I want to make love with you again and again and again," Quinn says her voice dropping into a low husk.

Those words—with  _that_  tone—do wonderful, sinful things to her. And Rachel finds that her body moves almost of it's own accord until she's straddling Quinn's waist. Rachel knows Quinn has to feel how wet she is already. And Quinn's eyes darken, her hands sliding against Rachel's thighs and to her hips.

Rachel's phone chooses that moment to ring. "Oh no! What time is it?" Rachel says. She's a mix of panic and disappointment, heart racing for both reasons. Her eyes land on her alarm clock. "Quinn! It's after 11:00!"

She scrambles, feet getting caught in the sheets as she tries to get out of bed to get to her phone. She collapses, halfway on top of Quinn. She finally manages to escape her bed, but as soon as she does, her phone goes silent. Quinn laughs, and Rachel turns around to send a playful glare before picking up her phone.

"It was my dad," Rachel says for Quinn's benefit. She quickly calls him back.

"Hey baby girl," her dad says when he picks up.

"Good morning! Sorry I missed your call," Rachel says brightly, moving back to sit down on the bed. Quinn curls toward her, slinging an arm across her waist and her hand coming to rest across her hips.

"Good morning to you too," her dad says. "Do you and Quinn still want to join us for lunch?"

Rachel covers her phone with her hand and whispers toward Quinn. "Lunch?"

Quinn nods her head.

Rachel speaks back into her phone. "Sure. Did you have somewhere in mind?"

"There's a cute little Italian place half a block away from our hotel if you don't mind coming this way."

"That sounds more than acceptable."

"Meet you there in about 30 minutes?"

"Uh, oh—can we make that 45?" Rachel says. She's slightly afraid that her dad knows exactly why she's asking for more and feels a flush of discomfort at the thought.

"That's fine. Meet us in the hotel lobby?"

"Sounds good. See you soon!" Rachel says and quickly hangs up. She jumps to her feet. "Up, up, up. We're meeting them in 45 minutes! We still have to shower, and we need to allow at least 10 minutes for the walk over to the hotel."

Quinn reaches out grabbing her wrist and then entwining their hands. "We have time," she says laughing. "We don't have to get out the door right this second."

Rachel takes a breath, recognizing the truth in Quinn's statement. "I acknowledge that you may be correct in this one instance."

"Oh is that right?" Quinn says, arching an eyebrow. She pulls herself out of bed, and Rachel licks her lips as Quinn stands, all bare skin on display. She's beautiful and Rachel aches to touch her again.

"Do you—um...do you want to shower with me?" Rachel says.

Quinn blushes, but she nods her head and Rachel's never been so grateful to have an in-suite bathroom before.

Taking a shower with Quinn is an incredibly intimate experience, and Rachel is quick to make a mental note to make sure it happens again when they aren't pressed to be anywhere in the immediate future. She wants nothing more than to push Quinn against the wall and take her then and there. She imagines the stream of water against them, the slick, wet skin, and the feel of Quinn's tight heat. She swallows and refrains only because it's  _her fathers_  they're meeting, and she'll be mortified if they ask why they are inevitably late.

They're out the door shortly, making good time. It's a crisp winter day, and Rachel breathes in the air, cold seeping down her lungs, feeling incredibly alive. She gently nudges Quinn with her elbow as they stroll down the sidewalk, biting back a smile.

Quinn looks down at her, the corners of her lips curling upwards and arching a brow. "So are you going to contact that Mason guy from last night?"

Rachel's world rocks into gray for a heartbeat. The cold air in her lungs is suddenly painfully numbing. "N-No!"

"No?" Quinn says, sounding taken aback. Her confusion is evident in the twist of her lips and the tilt of her head. "But he seemed like some sort of insider…"

Rachel's mind races. Her blood freezes. Even though Garrett never mentioned him before, she's almost positive Mason is involved in Broadway or professional theater in some capacity. But she  _can't_  contact him. Not with the risk of tipping the scales. Not with Quinn's life on the line. She's already pushed for so much and  _hurt_  Quinn in her ignorance. She refuses to take any more chances on Quinn's health. She settles on an excuse, words rapidly falling from her lips. She knows it to be weak and fallible even as speaks, but she has nowhere else to turn. "I have no idea who he is or why he handed me his card. I can't talk to him! Who knows what his occupation is or what type man he is! He could be running a meth lab! Or with those clothes, he could be a mob boss! I can't get involved!"

"He's your friend Garrett's uncle," Quinn says slowly.

"Well I always thought Garret was kind of suspicious," Rachel says with as much confidence as she can muster.

"Rachel… Is this about what we talked about before? The coincidences?"

Rachel doesn't answer immediately. She looks down at her feet, counting steps. It's calming, relaxing. Distracting.

"Rach, look at me please," Quinn says softly, drawing to a stop and sidling over the edge of the sidewalk.

Rachel can't help but follow. She looks up at Quinn, taking in the warm hazel gaze.

She'll  _die_  before she hurts Quinn again.

"Nothing is a coincidence," she says.

"You say that so confidently, but what else could it be? How can you be so sure?" Quinn says. She leans in closer, her voice pleading. "I haven't pressed the issue before, but I'm going to now because you're needlessly throwing away opportunity. Talk to me Rach."

The wind whips around her, and Rachel shivers as gray blows with it. She leans into her fully and is relieved when Quinn quickly wraps her into an embrace. She aches to get under Quinn's coat, to feel and hear and experience Quinn's heartbeat and the warm blood of life pumping through her veins. They were bare of everything material not even an hour ago, but Rachel yearns to be there again in the safety of her bed and wrapped in Quinn's naked arms right now. But Quinn's embrace tightens, and she places a kiss on the top of her head. And it's enough.

It's more than enough.

Even though her heart beats frantically in her chest. Even though she can literally feel the gray trying to claim her. And even Quinn's arms can't keep the two halves of her from reasserting themselves—ripping, pulling, clawing at her. Demanding her to satisfy both or be torn in two.

Rachel breathes shakily. "You were supposed to die in that car accident Quinn. I…I made a deal. Somehow, I negotiated for your life."

"With the doctors?" Quinn says, perplexed. Rachel can tell Quinn knows that makes no sense.

"With Fate. Or God. Or a god. Or something," Rachel says.

"Rachel, what are you saying?" Quinn says sharply. "You're making no sense. You don't just—It's  _impossible_."

"I know this goes against everything you believe in, but I swear on my life that I forged an agreement with something beyond what we typically perceive. I told it you had to live, and I would give anything up in turn. 'To change a fate, something else must be changed in turn.' And I agreed to it. Because nothing was and is more important to me than you getting a chance to live."

Quinn's quiet, and on top of the clawing in her heart, Rachel's anxiety is filled to its tipping point because it would be  _so_  easy for Quinn to say that she's insane and how can she possibly think that and she should check into a mental hospital. There's nothing else in the world around them. This New York City sidewalk they stand on might as well not exist because everything besides Quinn is a hazy blur. So Rachel talks  _more_ , words spilling uncontrollably from her lips.

"It was in the hospital waiting room. I don't remember falling asleep. I don't know how I possibly could have considering the situation. But I remember waking up. And before I woke up, I encountered it. Fate. I'll just call it Fate because I don't know what else to name it. Everything around me was gray and Fate itself was everywhere and everything, bodiless. And I begged it to change  _your_ fate because it wasn't fair, Quinn. And it wasn't right and I wasn't going to allow you to  _die_ ," Rachel says.

" _You_  weren't going to allow me die," Quinn says. "I don't..."

Rachel chokes back tears. She's not sure when she began crying. "I loved you then. I didn't know it, but I did. And the thought of you dying because of me? I  _had_  to change it. And Fate gave me that chance so I changed our fates. I exchanged my future for your life. And it's deal I will make every single time."

She says the last words slowly, drawing out every syllable because it is the one thing she understands in all of this. And Quinn surprises her, speaking gently as the last syllable fades away.

"So if you seize your original fate, your original future, I will die?"

"Yes," Rachel says shakily. "I know you might think I'm crazy, but I swear this is the truth on everything I've ever loved."

Quinn is calm. Her hands run soothingly up and down Rachel's back, but her voice grows distant as she speaks. "I was supposed to die in that car accident. I had a miraculous recovery and have fallen ill a few times since. You created a deal with an unknown entity so that I would live." Then her voice grows stronger, more present. She pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at her. Her eyes are warm and expressive. "I don't know what to believe. But I do know you're not crazy."

"Really?" Rachel says. She sniffs and runs a hand across her eyes, control slowly returning.

"Really," Quinn says. She pauses, and then says teasingly, "At least I think so."

And that's when Rachel knows that, if nothing else, they will at least be okay. She continues, this time with her voice level and steady. "Despite it all, despite knowing what I do, part of me craves to continue searching for stardom on Broadway. And I hate it. I hate that I do, but it's there, pulling at me—telling me to seize my future on the stage. How do I reconcile  _that_? That I still want it even knowing what I know."

"If what you say is true, maybe changing your fate didn't erase that full part of yourself," Quinn says. "I still believe—like I've always believed—that you're going to make it."

Rachel smiles into Quinn's shoulder. It's a weight off her shoulders too tell Quinn the full truth. And even if Quinn doesn't believe her—Quinn  _trusts_  her. And that's enough. Her smile only drops as she thinks back on what prompted the conversation. Insecurity bubbles up through her chest. "I can't make it. I can't take that chance on you. Quinn—I'm only going to disappoint you."

"Stop that," Quinn says sharply. She shifts and holds Rachel out at arms' length by the shoulders. Her tone changes then, becoming something oscillating between soft and hard, cold and warm. "You're  _not_  going to disappoint me. Are you really so selfish to think that I'm only in this because I thought you were going to make it big? Newsflash Rach—I'm doing more than fine at Yale and I love you for  _everything_  you are and choose to be."

Rachel wants to cry all over again. Instead, she ducks back into Quinn's arms, and lets herself forget about the gray and submerge into color.

That night she makes love to Quinn with everything she possesses. Rachel treasures the way her hands and lips feel on her, the smooth paleness of her skin, the lithe muscles underneath, and the way she arches into her touch. She etches her love into Quinn's body. And when Quinn comes, the memory tattoos itself onto her soul.

* * *

They fly home the next day. Quinn rides with them from the airport, and her fathers drive by the Fabray home to drop her off. Rachel can't kiss Quinn goodbye in front of her door like she wants to with her dads watching from the car. She settles for a chaste press of the lips.

Then Quinn whispers lowly as they part, "I can't wait to have you moaning my name again."

So Rachel reaches out, forgetting their audience and grabbing the lapels of her coat, and pulls Quinn into a bruising, charged embrace that leaves Quinn wide-eyed and breathless.

"Love you," Rachel says with a small, satisfied smirk.

The next day is Christmas Eve, and she and her fathers spend it making up for the entire Hanukkah festival she missed while in exams and preparing for  _Off Course_. She exchanges a few texts with Quinn during the day and some more with Seth who asks about Mason. Rachel avoids answering his questions.

Quinn's texts are sporadic. She was carried off to visit her sister almost as soon as she set foot in the door the day before. When Rachel's fathers finally wear themselves out from the combination of Hanukkah and Christmas celebrations, Rachel steals a few minutes with Quinn on Skype that night.

She can't help the smile that stretches across her face on seeing Quinn.

The smile only disappears when she absentmindedly checks her email mid-conversation and sees Mason Thorpe's name sitting in her inbox.

"Rachel what's wrong?" Quinn says worriedly, breaking off from a story about her mom and sister.

"Nothing," Rachel says quickly. She closes her eyes and breathes. "No, it's not  _nothing_. Mason emailed me like he said he would."

"Are you okay?" Quinn asks, concern evident. She leans in close to the camera, and Rachel takes strength from her pixaled gaze.

"Yes, it's just—I kind of thought he wouldn't contact me."

"Why?" Quinn says, furrowing her brow.

"I figured I was a passing fancy. That he's got other things going on. While I surrender the notion he might be a mob boss, I still don't know exactly who he is either."

"Are you going to open it?"

"No," Rachel says resolutely. "I'm not. I'm not taking that risk. If he's anything related to Broadway, I know that the part of me wanting that future is going to be that much harder to suppress. There's no way I'm taking any further risks on you."

She looks at Quinn, wishing more than anything that she was beside her right now.

"Whatever you want to do," Quinn says, "I support."

"I  _can't_."

It hurts to say it. It hurts to see the brief flash of disappointment cross Quinn's face before it's smothered by concern. But Rachel knows it'll hurt the most if she harms Quinn again.

* * *

The days pass quickly, and, by the time Quinn comes back home, Rachel is certain that she's made enough baked items to feed most of Lima. She keeps busy otherwise, reading novels, watching TV, and catching up with Kurt and Tina and others. She learns that Puck is home and hosting a New Year's Eve party for the glee club. She exchanges cursory texts with Santana, but it's Seth and Garrett who continue to cause her phone to buzz the most. She responds politely, but continues to skirt around anything related to Mason. She knows it has to be driving them crazy.

When Quinn knocks on her door the snowy night she arrives back home from her sister's, Rachel practically knocks her over and down the front steps in her enthusiasm.

"I missed you," Rachel says.

She pulls Quinn into a kiss, threading hands through her loose hair. Quinn sighs, and Rachel feels her melting into the kiss. Color seeps through Rachel's skin and behind her closed eyes. The press of lips turns languid and chaste—the only thing promising more is the grip Quinn keeps on her hips and the look in her eyes when they part.

"You know," Quinn says, breath misting into the air. "We were separated for longer at some points during the semester."

"Yes, but we were both also piled deep in work. And I've been spending all my time—"

"Baking. Yes, I know. And if you give me some of those cookies that I know had to be part of your baking, I promise you don't need to give me anything else for Christmas."

"But I bought and wrapped your gift up a long time ago! If I had known that, I never would have spent any extra money on you," Rachel says. She smirks. "I suppose it's not too late to return it."

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn says, rolling her eyes with drawn out exasperation. "Let's exchange gifts before you change your mind. I knew we should have gone ahead and done Christmas presents before mom whisked me away."

Rachel giggles, leading Quinn inside. She shivers off the cold, realizing just how long they were standing outside as warmth seeps back into her fingers. Her dads waylay them briefly to say hello to Quinn. They both give her hugs in greeting and then send them on their way.

"Door open Rachel!" her dad calls as Rachel pulls Quinn by the hand upstairs.

"But—" Rachel stops.

"I don't care if you're college students. My house, my rules!"

Rachel stomps her foot and pouts petulantly, but freezes upon seeing Quinn trying to hide a smile. She allows herself one final huff and quickly climbs the remaining stairs.

Leaving the door open doesn't stop her from immediately kissing Quinn as soon as they're inside her room. Quinn doesn't even get a chance to put down her purse or take off her coat as Rachel pulls their bodies together. Quinn, however, is more than compliant, angling her head to deepen the kiss and let their lips slide together effortlessly. Rachel hums from the back of her throat in approval and then slips her tongue into Quinn's mouth, wanting more and more and more as flames kindle low in her stomach.

There's a thud as Quinn's large purse drops to the ground, forgotten. Rachel pulls at Quinn's coat, struggling to get it off her shoulders. It's impossible when Quinn won't stop touching her—hands running up and down her back, fingers burrowing into her hair, palms pressing against her ribs and breasts. Rachel growls in frustration, separating from the kiss. Quinn laughs and finally helps her remove the coat and scarf.

"How fierce," Quinn says amusedly, placing a kiss to her temple.

Rachel laughs lightly even as the mood changes. It's probably for the best anyway considering her dads are sitting downstairs. That doesn't mean she doesn't awkwardly shift on her feet for a moment trying to suppress the desire burning in her veins.

Quinn bends over, picking up her purse. She grabs it and sits on the bed, pulling out two wrapped presents. Both are big enough that they wouldn't have fit into even a slightly smaller purse. Quinn holds them out with a small smile.

"Wait!" Rachel says. She hurries over to her closet, picking out a neatly wrapped present. She joins Quinn on the bed, sitting next to the gifts, and holds out her own with a small smile. "You first."

"Fine," Quinn says lightly, taking the present off Rachel's hands. She gingerly unwraps it, raising an eyebrow. Rachel tucks her hands underneath her suddenly anxious at what Quinn will think.

"Oh  _wow_. Rachel… This is perfect." Quinn says. A soft, genuine smile blooms across her face.

"So you like it?" Rachel says hopefully.

"I love it," Quinn says. She leans in, catching Rachel's lips with her own, before returning her attention to her two presents. Her eyes are alight in pleasure, and relief washes over Rachel as she thinks she did okay. One present is a year's subscription to  _The New Yorker_ , and the other is an individual membership to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

"I got a membership for me too. I hope you won't mind my accompaniment," Rachel says.

"This is amazing, Rachel. Really," Quinn says softly, squeezing her hand. "Open yours? Though I'm uncertain if I can top your gifts."

"Quinn," Rachel says as she tears into the wrapping paper of the first gift, "I'm sure whatever you purchased for me is more than adequate, and—a Sondheim collection!"

Rachel can't help the wide grin as she holds the pristine DVD box set. The set proudly reads 'The Stephen Sondheim Collection' with additional print indicating the six works included in the anthology.

"I saw your theater collection was missing some key works so I checked with your dads just to be sure that you didn't have any of Sondheim works included in this box set. I take it you're pleased?"

Rachel nods her head and clutches the box set to her chest before gently setting it down, and picking up the other package. "Anything else is too much. I don't think I'll be able to take it."

"I guess we'll see…"

Rachel is a little more patient in opening up the second present. It takes her a moment to put together the gift. It's a stack of playbills—roughly two dozen of them. " _Beauty & the Beast_,  _Passion_ ,  _Show Boat_ ,  _Damn Yankees_ … These all opened or were revived in 1994," Rachel says in awe. "Quinn, you got me Broadway playbills from the year I was born?"

"Almost all of them. I couldn't find some of the more obscure ones. Maybe when I'm rich and famous I'll be able to afford to get you the autographed copies."

"You must have spent forever finding all these," Rachel says.

"Don't give me too much credit. The Internet is a wonderful tool."

"No, Quinn. Really. This is amazing. I can't believe how much thought you put into this."

"I thought maybe we could frame them somehow so you could put them on display. You don't even have to use all of them—"

Rachel interrupts Quinn with a tackling hug, knocking them both back onto the bed. "I love you. This is all so  _perfect_."

* * *

Two days later, Rachel holds hands with Quinn as they walk into Puck's house for a New Years' Eve party. Her phone buzzes just as they walk in. This time, it's Garrett instead of Seth, and the message is a little different from previous ones asking about Mason.

" _I'm freaking out that you haven't contacted Mason yet. Just do it. He's an agent. One of the best. You're special and he knows it. We all know it."_

Her phone buzzes again. It's Seth. Right on schedule to tag-team with Garrett.

" _Garret and I are partying with Mason at an A-list Broadway party! You're missing out! Just talk to him."_

Rachel wants to scream as the gray swims around her. Always,  _always_ it's there. Unrelenting. She's certain she is going to be ripped in half this time because everything she ever wanted from  _before_  is waiting, there for the taking. But keeping Quinn alive and unharmed— _that's_  her ultimate priority.

Quinn's grip on her hand tightens, and Rachel remembers to breathe again. Quinn leans into her, gently turning off her phone and bringing her lips to her ear. "It's okay. I'm here," Quinn says softly. "We don't have to worry about a thing tonight besides having fun."

Puck comes charging toward them as soon as the last word falls from Quinn's lips. He picks Rachel up with big hug and sets her back down into Quinn's arms, and just like that, her world is awash in color again.

The music and alcohol and friends take over. Santana commandeers Quinn from her almost immediately. Rachel dances first with Kurt and then with a group including Tina, Mike, and Mercedes. Brittany grabs her in the midst of this, and it's almost impossible to keep up with her moves. She's saved by Quinn who offers her hand with a charming smile.

Rachel giggles and takes it, allowing Quinn to whisk her into her arms. She lets herself get carried away as Quinn rocks her hips to the beat of the song. Her blood runs hot and it has nothing to do with the warm temperature of the house or the physical exertion of dancing. She lets her hands wander and her body melt and mold into Quinn's, and, even though it's Lima, no one in the house cares. The music turns down only as the ten second countdown to the new year begins. Quinn kisses her breathless as soon as the room cheers "Happy New Year," and Rachel finds that nothing else exists.

The party continues into the morning hours, doubling as a glee club reunion. Everyone but Finn is present.

"He's supportive as much as he can be, but he doesn't quite know what to do with the fact that you're dating Quinn. He thought it would be best to make other plans even with everyone in town," Kurt says to her. They're standing in the corner of the kitchen, watching Puck's brother (or half-brother as Rachel understands) attempt to tap into a second keg.

"I'm not complaining," Santana says loudly, jutting into the conversation as she walks up to them carrying two Solo cups.

Kurt sighs. "He's grown up a lot the past two years."

"I'm sure he has," Santana says with only mild sarcasm. She holds out one of the cups to Rachel. "I need you to come with me."

"Why?" Rachel says. She gives Santana a look, taking the cup off her hands, and looking at it suspiciously. "Is this poisoned?"

"Is this—what? No!" Santana scoffs. "Kurt, would you keep Britt company for a bit?"

Kurt shrugs. "Considering that that was relatively polite for you, I'll do it. No promises she'll return to you in the same state you're leaving her in."

"Just don't let her take off her clothes. I don't want all these teenaged punks Puckerman had to invite to cream their pants. Come on Berry."

"Where are we going?" Rachel demands as she follows.

"Just out back where we can talk for a second. I hope you have your beer-coat on."

"My  _what_?"

"Beer-coat. Aren't you at a real college now? And you don't know what beer-coat means? You know when you've been drinking, and you're warm all over from the alcohol..." Santana says scathingly. Rachel only half hears her as she catches Quinn's eye from across the room. Quinn's in a group with a couple of current glee club members, Puck, and Sam, but in that moment, her eyes are fully focused on Rachel. She's tracing the tip of her finger around the rim of her cup, and her lips curve into a slight smirk. It sends a shiver down Rachel's spine.

"—And you're not even listening because you're too busy stripping Quinn with your eyes," Santana says. She opens up the backdoor. "Whatever, just get your ass out here."

The cold isn't quite as bad as she thought it would be, and she's thankful that Santana doesn't lead her through the snow of the backyard either. Rachel would hate to sink her current shoes into the mush. Santana snaps at a couple of the current high schoolers making out in the corner of the porch, and they hurry inside.

"Still got it," Santana says, taking a seat on swing.

"Is this about Quinn?" Rachel says slowly.

"Yes," Santana says and takes a sip of her drink. "She's loved you since forever, you know. And if you—"

"Oh my…Santana, are you about to give me the 'break her heart and I'll kill you' speech?" Rachel says interrupting. Santana glares at her, and Rachel ducks her head to hide her smile. "Right. Sorry."

"Quinn and I haven't always gotten along, but she's my girl and I'm going to look out for her. She's so fucking happy right now. You have a lot of power over her. Mess that up and I swear I'm going to break you."

"I love her, Santana."

"I know," Santana says with a sigh. "I never thought I'd see her so happy. It's not  _all_  you, of course. I hope your head isn't big enough to think it is. It's you and Yale and being out of this goddamn town. Fucking Lima. Good thing you finally got some sense and got out of here too."

"I have Quinn to thank for that. I never would have made it without her."

"Christ, I'm not sure how, but somehow the two of you together actually makes you both a little more bearable. When you're not being all sappy that is. You kind of make each other better."

"Thank you," Rachel says. She smiles mischievously. "It's a relief to have your blessing."

"Yeah, yeah," Santana grumbles. "So I heard you had your first NYU performance the other week?"

"Yes, I did," Rachel says reluctantly. Her heart lifts at the memory of the performance and sinks all over again as she thinks about the email from Mason sitting in her inbox.

"And?" Santana says. "I never thought I'd see the day I'd have pry any words out of you."

"It was amazing," she says wistfully. "And it ended up being a much bigger deal than I thought it was going to be in regards to the people who showed up."

"Oh really? I take it—"

The back door bangs open, and Mike appears, wide-eyed and breathless. "Rachel! Quinn! It's Quinn!"

Rachel is on her feet, heart in her throat, before Mike even finishes speaking. She knocks over her drink, and leaves her cup spilling its content onto the porch, forgotten. The party is at a standstill inside. Everyone silently peers into the center of the living room where a blur of action is occurring. Music continues to play. The female vocalist sings on, and the lyrics pound into her.  _"Help, I'm alive. My heart keeps beating like a hammer. Beating like a hammer."_ The world shifts black, then white, until finally it crashes into gray.

"Get out of the fucking way!" Santana shouts desperately. The crowd shifts and parts, and Rachel shoves through to find Quinn.

Blaine is half-holding her. Her arms are clutched weakly around her ribs. Her eyes are glazed. There's a spark of recognition.

"Rach. I can't—I can't," Quinn says softly, panicky. Her breath comes in small short gasps. "Breathe— _Hurts_." She mouths the final words.

Rachel pushes forward even as the recognition dies in Quinn's eyes.

"Quinn!" Rachel yells, scrambling. Quinn's breathing is faint. Weak. It's dying even as Rachel reaches for her. Not understanding. Not comprehending. Quinn's whole body is tinged blue. Pale. Bloodless.

"Call 911!" She hears distantly Santana scream.

"Puck's already on it!" Someone else shouts.

"Get them here fucking now!"

"Quinn," Rachel murmurs over and over.

Noise buzzes in her ears. Each heartbeat in her chest jumps through her painfully.

_Quinn's not breathing_.

_She's dying_.

"Quinn—stay with me! Quinn!"

Everything folds into gray except the yellow in Quinn's hair and the blue tinted on her skin. And Rachel doesn't understand. She doesn't understand! Blaine lays Quinn out on the floor, strong, capable, alive hands going to her heart. Pumping.

She doesn't understand. She holds Quinn's hand as Blaine works.

It's cold.

"Please Quinn! Please! Hold on! They're coming. Help is coming. I promise!"

Blaine is counting under his breath. A memory surfaces. It's startling vivid. She sits at the Lima Bean with Kurt and Blaine. Blaine says that all Dalton students had CPR lessons during PE. The memory fades out as Blaine swears in the present. His movements are harsh and violent. Desperate.

The secondhand ticks.

_Quinn is dying._

Right in front of her eyes. Quinn is dying.

There's nothing she can do.

"I don't understand!" Rachel cries out. "I didn't do anything!"

And then thin, strong arms are pulling her back and Blaine is letting go and she doesn't understand  _anything_. She thrashes, desperate to get to Quinn, until she sees the uniformed blue shirts surround her. They cut open her shirt, and one of the paramedics pounds a thick needle into Quinn's bare chest.

"Clear!"

Quinn's unconscious body jumps and shakes uncontrollably.

Rachel can't watch anymore. She turns in Brittany's hold, hiding her face in her shoulder.

* * *

The clock over the reception desk still looms over the waiting area. It's now set a couple of minutes fast, but the secondhand continues to move forward in slow steady circles.

Rachel closes her eyes. All she can see is Quinn pale and lifeless, lying on the Puck's living room floor. She opens them, unable to take the vision, and settles for staring back at the clock.

Each beat of her heart wracks her body. She holds back the tears, the hysteria, but only just.

She doesn't understand. She didn't  _do_  anything.

But the gray is more pronounced than ever. It mocks her. Scorns her.

Brittany sits next to her, gently playing with her hair. It helps keep her calm. She wonders if Brittany knows that—knows how close she is to breaking. Because  _Quinn_ … She trembles and Brittany hums a relaxing note, hand now massaging the back of her neck. Santana paces throughout the waiting area, rustling in between everyone else who followed the ambulance to the hospital. Judy sits across from her, clutching the hand of a tall, clean-shaven man with salt and pepper hair. They're both dressed nicely, having been out at New Year's party too.

The secondhand ticks on.

The strokes of Brittany's fingers match each passing second.

The waiting area sinks into gray until there's nothing else.

* * *

" **In your heart of hearts, you wish for Lucy Quinn Fabray to live."**

" _Always."_

" **Fate is not so easily altered. Equilibrium must be maintained."**

* * *

Rachel resumes consciousness with a gasping breath.

"Easy there, jewbabe," Puck says. He's kneeling in front of her, his hard features softened with concern. Brittany is still beside her, and Santana has finally settled on the ground in front of her, sitting in between her girlfriend's legs.

"I went back home to clean up a bit and grab some things people left behind. Here's your phone. And Quinn's things," he says.

"Thanks," Rachel says, her voice rough and scratchy. She takes them off his hands.

"Quinn's lucky to have you," Puck says.

Rachel is numb. "She wasn't breathing. She was  _dead_."

"Hey," Puck says, softly. "Blaine did his thing, and the paramedics got to her in time."

"We don't know that  _yet_ ," Rachel says, her voice breaking. "We don't know  _anything_."

_She_  doesn't know anything. She's pushed t _oo_  far, t _oo_  much. She's playing with something she can't fully comprehend. No matter the clawing in her heart for her life meant on the stage because Quinn's life…  _Quinn's life_. That's what's ultimately important. And she's been much too casual, flippant. It's  _Quinn's_  life.

For being in love with Quinn, she's been unforgivably selfish. Something ugly and dark and red hot explodes within her. Hate. Hatred at herself.

Brittany throws an arm around her shoulders, making a soothing noise. "Quinn's strong. Don't sell her short. And most of all, don't blame yourself Rachel."

She doesn't have the words or the ability to answer Brittany. Not with the hate gnawing and consuming and eating her alive. She screams inside her head, and aches to let the sound escape into the waiting room. To let everyone know just how despicable she is.

Instead, she fiddles with her phone. She has a number of missed calls from the course of night. The majority originate from Seth and Garrett, and she doesn't doubt the voicemails sitting in her inbox are from them either. There's one other addition call from an unknown number that she would bet anything is Mason.

The last thing she wants is to field questions about Mason or about Broadway. Early hour that it is, she knows they won't even answer anyway. But none of that matters. Quinn is somewhere in this hospital. Dead. Alive. Fighting for her life. Rachel's at the mercy of the doctors to find out anything. She brings her knees up into her chest, curling into herself, and silently sobs.

She has nothing but her guilt and shame. Loathing everything she is and chooses to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song at the party is "Help I'm Alive" by Metric.


	8. The Weighted Scale

The secondhand circles endlessly. Rachel loses herself in its constant, steady motion. Each tick forward resounds through her body, sending a fresh pulse of self-hate into her system. Her heart beats violently. She feels as if she's watching herself from afar, consumed in gray, observing her body wreck itself out of anger.

It continues. On and on and on, until finally—

"—rapid onset and severe tension pneumothorax led to near cardiogenic shock. If the paramedics had been any longer in getting there, we might be having a very different conversation. As it is, however, her heart was still beating, albeit very faintly, at the time of the paramedics' arrival."

"What does all this mean?" Judy says faintly. She clutches her date's hand. He stoically wraps an arm around her slim shoulders. Rachel wishes she could remember his name from their brief introduction when he and Judy arrived at the hospital.

"That Quinn was very, very lucky. As I said, we were able to successfully resuscitate her," the doctor says seriously. "Her lungs collapsed quite suddenly. As you know, trauma from her car accident led to pneumothroax at that time. It's not unusual for a repeat incident to occur. This incident just happened awfully quick and very severely. The diminished blood circulation set in rapidly, causing loss of consciousness, and pushed her to the verge of cardiogenic shock."

"But you got to her in time?" Judy says, wide-eyed and fearful.

"Correct. Thanks to your efforts young man," the doctor says, gesturing toward Blaine. Puck claps Blaine gruffly on the back. "And how quickly the paramedics got there we're optimistic that we won't see any lasting impact on her mental and physical faculties."

There's a collective sigh of relief from the crowd. Rachel wishes she could remember how to breathe.

"On top of normal recovery," the doctor continues, "she's going to be very sore the next few days. The CPR efforts did leave bone bruises on her ribs, but in a turn of luck, no fractures. That being said, Quinn is an anomaly. She's faced a number of medical emergencies since her car accident, but each time she has recovered astoundingly well."

"Can I see her?" Judy says.

"Yes, two of you may go at a time currently. She's still unconscious, and could be for quite some time. There's really no way of knowing when she will wake," the doctor says.

Judy immediately moves forward, leaving the man beside her after he kisses her tenderly on the cheek. "Rachel?" Judy prompts.

She feels everyone's eyes on her, waiting. Expectant. But she's frozen except for the blood coursing through her veins and the beat of her heart. She thinks about how normal it is. How she never thinks about these processes keeping her alive and how these very same things just  _stopped_  working for Quinn.

And how it's because of her.

"Rachel, go on," Santana says softly beside her. "We'll visit when you get back."

That's entirely not the point, she thinks as she stumbles forward. She remembers when she didn't have the right to visit Quinn first. How she has that right now and how  _she doesn't deserve it_.

She follows the doctor. Unsteady. Displaced. Her body isn't her own. Gray swarms around her, streaking the hallways and swirling off her skin. She stops with the doctor and Judy in front of unremarkable door, cracked halfway open. "Quinn Fabray" reads across the small whiteboard pinned to its front.

The doctor says a few more words. It's white noise. Gray bleeds through the edges. Judy pushes the door open. She sweeps inside. Rachel follows. Quiet and pale. Like a ghost.

Quinn lies asleep on the bed, her skin ashen and white. Her hair fans around her, highlighting the arch of her cheeks, the curve of her neck. She could be a statue. A work of great art representing the beauty of life. Except for the tube emerging from Quinn's chest. And an oxygen mask. And so many wires. And it's horrifying, yet there's the beep from the heartbeat monitor. The LCD peaks at steady green intervals.

She remembers seeing Quinn lying in a bed in this very same hospital after the car accident. It's different. The same. Yet  _everything_  is different.

Rachel breathes.

"Oh Quinnie," Judy says, already by Quinn's side. She reaches a lean hand out, smoothing back Quinn's hair.

Rachel takes a step.

"I don't know why these things keep happening to you," Judy says softly.

She takes another step.

"But you're so strong. You keep fighting," Judy continues, taking Quinn's hand without the IV.

And another.

"I wish I had your strength. I love you so much," Judy says, her voice breaking.

She's next to the foot of the bed.

"Rachel's here too, and you're both so beautiful together. Rachel?" Judy says. Her intention is clear. Judy's offering her the space next to Quinn. And all Rachel can think is that  _she caused this._

She flees.

She streaks down the hallway. The image of Quinn, light disappearing from her eyes, scorches in her memory. In a heartbeat, she's back in the waiting room. She ignores the queries of her name and breaks through the automatic doors until she's outside in the sunlit morning. She bends over and empties what little she has in her stomach. When there's nothing left, she heaves all the same. It burns, but nothing is as painful as the scarred memory of Quinn dying.

Someone gently touches her back. It's soothing and calm. There's another hand, holding back her hair. The hands are patient, waiting. Finally, she stops trembling and regains control over her body. She breathes in the cold morning air and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. The foreign palm on her back circles, pacifying, while whoever is holding her hair shifts, letting it free to fall loosely around her shoulders again. She turns weakly to find Santana and Kurt standing with her.

Kurt fishes into his pocket, pulling out a pack of sugar free gum. He hands her a piece and then opens his arms. Rachel lets herself be wrapped up into a hug, and she can't help but compare it to Quinn's comforting touch. She chokes back tears all over again, shivering. Shaking.

"Take a minute," Santana says thickly.

Rachel clenches Kurt's jacket and breathes, "I did it. It's my fault."

"No. No it's not," Kurt says.

The truth sits on the tip of her tongue. Fate. Gray. All of it. She buries her head into Kurt's shoulder and swallows the words instead. She attempts to draw the strength to suppress her tears. She manages to keep them at bay. But only just.

It takes everything she has.

* * *

Kurt and Santana escort her back inside. Brittany appears with a bottled water. She fights against the heaviness of her body, but her mental and physical exhaustion is too much. She drifts into sleep, curled up between Brittany and Sam.

And when she wakes, it's to her dads hovering around her. Her daddy holds out a bag, and her stomach growls as she recognizes food inside. She eats quickly, her only words a brief thanks for the meal.

It doesn't do anything to fill the emptiness. It doesn't do anything to change the gray. It doesn't do anything to alleviate  _her_ fault.

She's in limbo. She can't bring herself to see Quinn. She's  _not_  deserving of it. But she can't leave either.

She feels eyes on her, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She quickly identifies the culprit—Santana. Her gaze is dark and unblinking, and focused entirely on her. Santana stands, gently parting from Brittany. She walks over, hands jammed into the pockets of her jacket.

"She woke up you know," Santana says. "Doctors couldn't believe it. But Quinn's always liked to give the occasional 'fuck you.' Wasn't even awake long enough to open her eyes completely. But you know what she said? ' _Rachel?_ ' You want to try seeing her again?"

Rachel's heart picks up its pace. Despite everything, a light, bubbly feeling climbs through her chest. Because Quinn is awake and asking for  _her_. She shouldn't be. She knows everything. She has to know it is Rachel that has put her there. At that, the dark sinks back inside of her, heavy and encompassing. There's no way Quinn would ask for her if she were fully aware. Rachel's chest tightens, and she covers her face with her hands.

"Rachel, she asked for  _you_ ," Santana says lowly.

"Okay," Rachel says, dropping her hands to clench the hem of her coat. Because she wants—she  _needs_ —to see Quinn. To truly face what she's done to her.

And even though she hates herself, she can't stop the selfish hope that Quinn doesn't hate her too.

She stands, and Santana wordlessly leads her down the sterile hospital hallways to Quinn's room. Brittany follows, humming something without a melody. Quinn's door is open this time. Instead of gray, there's the barest hint of light and color. Santana doesn't pause, striding right on inside. Rachel does hesitate, taking a deep breath. Brittany's humming grows louder, and then Rachel feels her hand taken by a smooth, warm one. Brittany smiles gently at her, continuing her wordless song, and pulling her inside the room.

Rachel doesn't process any of the other bodies in the room. Only Quinn. Still pale. Still existing in a jungle of wires and tubes. But Brittany pulls her forward until she has the seat right next to Quinn. And Brittany takes her hand, and takes Quinn's, and connects them together before backing away.

Quinn's hand is cool and dry to touch. But Rachel grips it because it's a lifeline. Because she can feel the blood and life rushing underneath the pale skin.

Her body trembles all over again, and Rachel cries silently from somewhere deep within her. It's consuming. Exhausting. Gray edges into existence and then there's nothing else.

* * *

She hears her name distantly. It's hushed, and it reminds her of sound traveling through water. She hears it again. And then again. It's clearer.

She feels pressure on her hand, and it's this that brings the world back into focus. She's slouched on the bed—and  _oh_  is her neck going to hurt later. But there's a thumb running over her knuckles, and that is the only thing that matters. She sits up quickly.

And there, oxygen mask removed and smiling at her is Quinn. She's still lying back, propped up by the slanted bed. And she still looks small and frail. Her eyes are heavy, but she's smiling.

_She's smiling._

" _Quinn_ ," she says. And she tries to get more words out, but everything gets lodged in her throat so that all she can do is sob.

Because Quinn is alive. And Quinn is awake. And Quinn is smiling at her.

Quinn makes a low shushing noise. It's patient and settling. Rachel clings to her hand. She doesn't deserve it. She doesn't. But there's color in Quinn's eyes and radiating off their touch.

"I'm okay Rach," Quinn says. Her voice is low, raspy. But there's a strength and conviction in her tone that blazes through Rachel's heart and soul.

It burns in an entirely different way than everything she felt mere hours ago.

"I'm so sorry," Rachel chokes out. "This is  _my_  fault."

"No," Quinn says. "It's not."

"What else could it be? I keep pushing and pushing even though I know the stakes. It's a scale and too much on one side…I  _know_  that more can kill you. Who does that to the person they love?"

"Hey—Rach, look at me." Quinn says softly. "It's not  _you_."

The way Quinn says it gives Rachel pause. She swallows back any further tears. "What do you mean?"

"I got a text from Seth at the party," Quinn begins slowly. Her voice is still low and raspy, but she doesn't look away. Her eyes have lost all hint of sleepiness.

"When did you exchange numbers?"

"Some point during your rehearsals for  _Off Course_. The point is—he texted about the party, about Mason, about how you weren't responding to them," Quinn says. She pauses, closing her eyes and taking deep, even breaths before continuing. "He said how Mason was ready to take you on if you wanted to hire him as your agent, how there was an audition that was perfect that he would book you for that night. How they just needed your permission."

"Quinn…you didn't…"

Quinn nods her head and then coughs. A noise issues from the tube in her chest, and Quinn winces. "I had been drinking. I _know_. But I stood there, watching you talk to Kurt. And I couldn't let you pass it up. It was everything."

"But you told me you believed me!" Rachel says. Her body is doing funny things. She shivers. Her skin turns clammy. Her blood rushes in her ears.

She's angry. Confused.

But most of all she's  _hurt_. Because Quinn either lied about believing her or put her life in danger in a way that Rachel never wanted for either of them.

"I believe you," Quinn says.

" _Now_ ," Rachel says. It takes effort to keep her voice level, but she does. Because even though she's  _hurt_ , Quinn is the one lying in a hospital bed. And Rachel can't forget that for a moment because if she just said  _no_  instead of ignoring them…

"I believed you then too," Quinn says resolutely. She squeezes Rachel's hand.

"Then why?"

"Because I had been drinking. Because I couldn't let you pass up that kind of opportunity. Because I couldn't fathom how  _it_  could possibly be true."

Quinn breathes heavily as she finishes speaking, and Rachel stands, concerned. She reaches out with a free hand, cupping Quinn's face. She brings their joined hands to her chest, holding them both close to her heart. "Easy, easy. Please don't cause yourself unnecessary stress."

Quinn smirks tiredly, "I shouldn't be dating you then."

"Stop. You're not allowed to make any jokes right now."

"Okay," Quinn says with a soft smile that quickly falls away. "I'm sorry. For causing you to worry. For having to see what you did at the party."

"Watching you struggling to breath and just seemingly  _stop_  was the worst moment of my life," Rachel says quietly. "I thought for sure you were gone, and I thought for sure it was all my fault." She wishes she could keep those words to herself, but they bubble over and rupture like a volcano.

"I love you," Quinn says thickly. "And I'm so sorry. I have no idea what Seth did with my text after I sent it, but I'm still here. I'll be here for as long as you want me."

"I want you  _forever_  Quinn," Rachel says. She leans over, placing a kiss to Quinn's forehead. Color pulses where her lips meet Quinn's skin.

Quinn's eyes are heavy again, and she smiles sleepily, "There was a time when I never thought someone would want me. Much less you. No matter what happens—I'm happy with you."

Rachel's heart clenches and splinters for one moment and then is forged anew in the fire and warmth that follows.

"You should get some more rest. That's the quickest path to recovery. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. I was worried," Quinn says, voice thick with sleep.

"We're in this together," Rachel says, sitting back down. "I promise."

"Rach...I forgot to say," Quinn says, on the verge of slumber. "I dreamed of gray."

"You—You did?"

Quinn makes a noise of affirmation out of the back of her throat, and her grip grows slack. Rachel doesn't move, but her thoughts run. Is it even  _the_  gray or is just Quinn's brain reacting to their talk. And if it's  _the_  gray, what does it mean that Quinn can see it? Rachel may know—or have a lead on—why Quinn almost  _died_  again, but she once again feels small and insignificant. She doesn't understand fate. Or Fate. It's beyond her, beyond anyone. Yet she continues to try to play its deadly game.

Even as she thinks that, the familiar clawing is tearing her in two all over again. Because as much as she knows that everything is for Quinn, the part of her that aches for  _more_ —for what she knows to be her original fate—begs her for fulfillment. But even with her desire for more fighting to drown out everything else, there's Quinn and her life, radiant with color.

It's always Quinn.

She has always consciously chosen Quinn. It's only now that she feels the color glowing underneath that decision.

Quinn's breathing is slow and steady. The beep of the heart monitor continues its comforting mantra. Rachel looks at her, and her heart swells until everything nearly bubbles over again. Because life is so precious and so brief. And Quinn is beautiful and deserves  _everything_.

Her phone chooses that moment to buzz in her coat pocket, and she jumps, startled out of her thoughts of Quinn and fate.

She gently pulls her hand from Quinn who sleeps on, unaware. Rachel hopes she's not dreaming of gray.

She edges quietly out of the room, opening the door to find nearly everyone who matters loitering in the hallway outside. It's only then she actually processes the fact that she and Quinn remained alone for the extent of their conversation. Judy approaches her expectantly.

"She fell back asleep," Rachel says.

"Oh good," Judy says, wringing her hands. "She wasn't in too much pain was she? She didn't seem to be before she asked us all to leave to talk to you, but I want to be sure."

"No, she was drowsy more than anything," Rachel says wearily. "Thank you for giving us a chance to talk. I didn't mean to keep you separated."

Judy breathes a sigh of relief and gives a tight nod. For a moment, Rachel thinks Judy is going to hug her, but then it passes. Judy touches her on the arm instead before whisking herself back inside Quinn's room.

Santana and Brittany stare at her, and Puck makes half-a-move toward her, but Rachel waves them off. "I'm just going to get some air. I'm fine," she says with as much composure as she can muster. She thinks her professor at the New Studio on Broadway would be proud of the performance.

She doesn't pull out her phone until she turns the corner. The latest message is a text from Seth.  _"Big news! Hope you and Quinn are up to listening after whatever trouble you got in last night!"_

Sitting in her inbox is a dozen more text messages, all unread. She barely resists throwing her phone against the wall. If only she had not ignored all their messages. If only she had been strong enough to resist the yearning for more. She has always been remarkably self-disciplined, but fate has a stranglehold on her.

She wishes she were stronger.

She rounds another corner, going down a quiet hallway away from the waiting room. A couple of nurses rush by, but they pay her no mind. She sinks to the floor, back resting against the wall, and takes a deep breath. She selects Seth out of her contacts and listens to the ring.

"Rachel! Finally!" Seth says. His excitement would be contagious under other circumstances. "Listen, after Quinn gave us the go ahead, Mason set up—"

"Hi Seth," she says quietly. It's enough to draw his attention.

"Hi," he laughs. "Everything okay?"

"Quinn's in the hospital," she says quickly.

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and then finally he says, much more subdued, "Is she okay?"

"She's going to be."

Seth sighs. "That's good! Give her a kiss for me. And tell her she better be at my birthday party when the semester starts back up again." Then his voice grows more somber. "What happened?"

"Her lung collapsed suddenly. She—She almost  _died_ ," Rachel says, her voice breaking.

"Oh  _fuck_ ," Seth says. "But she's okay  _right_?"

"Yes," Rachel says shakily. "I just talked to her actually. But Seth—the doctors said— _god_ —they said she's so lucky. If it had taken the paramedics just a little bit longer, if Blaine hadn't jumped right in, if—if—everything wasn't in the right place."

"But it was! She's okay. She—She's okay," Seth says. Then he breathes. " _Shit_. How many times is that now?"

Seth's a close enough friend that he's aware of Quinn's previous hospital visits.

"Too many," Rachel says. "I can't—I can't…  _I love her_ , and I can't let these things happen to her anymore."

"Alright, look. Just you focus on her now. Call me when she's better. When you have a clear head and want to talk. If not, I'll talk to you about everything with Mason when we get back for the semester. There's no immediate rush."

"Okay," she says. She leans her head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. She wishes it wasn't gray.

* * *

Quinn's released from the hospital three days before both of their semesters are set to start up. Rachel could return to NYU at any time, but there's no way she is going back without making sure Quinn gets settled out of the hospital without any difficulties or complications.

Quinn was making jokes about the chest tube by her third day so Rachel's pretty sure she is okay.

But no matter the joke, Quinn's gasping breaths and dark eyes remain prominent in her mind. And while her recovery has gone well, no one has forgotten just how close of a call it was. Just how many close calls Quinn has had. This thought haunts Rachel even more than the gray.

She accompanies Quinn home from the hospital and fusses around her making sure she's comfortable. Quinn sits on the overstuffed armchair in the den as Rachel and Judy hurry back and forth, making sure she has everything she wants and then some. An ottoman for her feet. A glass of water. A glass of juice. A Vitamin Water. A blanket. A pillow. Another pillow. A book. Her laptop. The remote. Her cell phone. Another book.

"Stop," Quinn says, her jaw tight. "I don't need you guys  _mothering_  me. Especially you Rachel because—just  _because_. I'm not an invalid. Not now."

"Quinnie, the doctor said to rest," Judy says, her face pinched in an effort to look stern. "No strenuous activity of any kind. I just want you to be comfortable."

"Mom, I'm fine. I have everything I need. Keep Nathan company," Quinn says gesturing to Judy's middle-aged boyfriend. Rachel is proud to say that she did manage to learn his name during Quinn's stay at the hospital. Nathan smiles and waves awkwardly as he's called to attention.

Judy hesitates, her face softening as she looks at Nathan, and Rachel thinks they're really kind of adorable.

"Really. I'm fine," Quinn says, stressing each word.

"Ah! I get what this is about—we'll just leave you and Rachel  _alone_."

"Mom, are you serious? Oh my god," Quinn says, flinging her hands up in the air.

And Rachel always assumed  _she_  was the dramatic one.

"Rachel, honey, we'll be in the kitchen if you need anything, or if Quinn becomes absolutely awful. She gets in moods sometimes. I'm sure you know."

Quinn just groans, closing her eyes and resting her head against the cushion. Judy smiles fondly and waves goodbye as she pulls Nathan toward the kitchen. Music starts up distantly—Motown—ensuring their privacy.

"For the record, I wasn't mothering you. I was  _smothering_  you," Rachel says. "Because."

"Smothering works—and seems to be what you were going for. I don't need four pillows."

"There's only two."

"Same thing."

"That's the last time I try to take care of you," Rachel says, crossing her arms in faux-indignation.

Quinn doesn't call her on the obvious bluff and instead holds out a hand. "Come here."

Rachel answers the call instinctively, taking the offered hand. Quinn immediately pulls her down over the armrest. "Quinn, I don't want to hurt you."

"Like you could hurt me," Quinn says, scoffing. But then her features get drawn into serious lines, hazel eyes big and gleaming. "I'm  _fine_."

She'll never admit it, but Rachel knows that all Quinn wants right now is to cuddle.

"Okay. Just please let me know if you get uncomfortable," Rachel says.

Quinn's recovery has gone well, but Rachel can't escape her guilt—festering at times, erupting and overwhelming at others. And there is the gray looming over them both. So the thought of being able to sit wrapped up in Quinn—the fact that Quinn  _wants_  that too—sends warmth reverberating inside her. Quinn almost died due to her inaction yet she wants Rachel by her  _still_.

"Promise. I just—I want to be close. To you," Quinn says.

Rachel bites back a smile because even after being intimate with each other, Quinn still blushes at the simple things. She settles in beside her, throwing her legs over Quinn's lap and onto the opposite armrest. She rests her head against Quinn's shoulder, sighing in contentment as an arm wraps around her back. She can hear Quinn's heartbeat, can feel it pounding through her skin and blood.

"I've missed this," Quinn says softly.

"The hospital isn't very conducive to intimacy," Rachel says in response. She edges her hand underneath Quinn's shirt, tracing her ribs. She lost weight during the stay, and she didn't have much to lose to begin with. Rachel resolves to make sure Quinn gets plenty of protein over the next couple of weeks.

"It's the last place I ever want you to see me. I hate being weak," Quinn says, jaw clenched. "And now I have yet another scar to add to my collection."

"Your scars are beautiful," Rachel says, sincerely. She chases off the gnawing guilt because right now this is about  _Quinn_. "And you're the strongest person I know."

Quinn kisses her then. It's achingly brief—just a warm press of the lips. "I know you kind of have to say those things as my girlfriend, but I honestly believe you."

"Good," Rachel says smiling. "Tisch's acting classes are good for something."

"Really?" Quinn says with exasperation, arching an eyebrow.

Rachel threads her fingers through blonde hair. "Truly," she says lowly, "You're intelligent. Quick-witted. Dynamic. Charming. Attentive. Strong. And so, so special. Not to mention beautiful. Sexy."

"Maybe not so much in a hospital gown for days on end."

"You're always beautiful," Rachel says. She senses the color around them rather than sees it, and a thought crosses her mind, wiping the smile off her face. "Have you seen anymore of the gray?"

"I don't know," Quinn says, slowly. "Maybe."

"I can say with a fair amount of certainty you would know it if you did."

"There's gray in my dreams. I don't know if it's because of—"

"What we've talked about," Rachel finishes for her. "I—I realize I never said thank you for what you did New Years' Eve. You only had good intentions for me. But Quinn, there's no way I can agree to do anything with Mason."

"I'm here, Rach. Despite it all, I'm still here. Maybe it's not a matter of life and death."

"You were supposed to die. And I told Fate that you had to live," Rachel says, careful to keep her voice pitched low. "I don't know what else—you could have died so easily each time if things hadn't worked out like they did."

"But isn't that fate? That things worked out like they did? Or is it just luck?"

"I don't know," Rachel breathes. "I don't know anything. And that's why I can't risk it. Because what I do know is that you aren't supposed to be here with me today, and  _I_  changed that. My future for your life."

"You saved me," Quinn says lowly. "You love me."

"Yes," Rachel says. "But I hesitated and that's why you almost died again. That's on me, and I still can't stop wanting  _more_."

"I want you to have more too," Quinn says, she brings her free hand across their bodies, resting it against Rachel's cheek. "You know I've always believed in you."

"It's  _killing_  you," Rachel says brokenly. " _I'm_  killing you."

"You saved me."

Rachel grits her teeth in efforts to suppress her tears. She shakes her head, even as Quinn leans in closer.

"You did," Quinn says, whispering. "You have."

* * *

She scurries back to New York the day before classes start, harried and stressed. There's so much to do, and Quinn is always in the back of her mind. Beatrice is inside, sprawled out on her bed with her laptop when she comes charging in.

"Hi Bee—going to the bookstore here in a minute," Rachel says, hauling her suitcase into a corner so she can get into it. She rifles through another bag, looking for her list of books for the semester. "Need to buy my books and then I need to print out my syllabi. Tonight, on top of unpacking, I need to review material for tomorrow. You know how I like to review everything for the week? Well unfortunately I won't be able to do that tonight, but the least I can do is be prepared—"

Rachel stops only when she feels arms wrap around her.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to Quinn," Beatrice says.

Rachel closes her eyes and swallows. "Thank you. She's going to be okay." It doesn't matter that she sent a text to Beatrice with those very same words. Saying it aloud has so much more power.

"I know, but that doesn't mean you weren't scared out of your mind," Beatrice says, pulling back from the hug. "And knowing you, probably also stressed out of your mind as well."

Rachel smiles slightly, "That may be a slightly accurate assessment."

"Seth wants to take you out to dinner tonight if you're up for it."

"Oh—I..." She's not ready to talk to him. "I have so much to do…"

"You'll need to eat, and he promises just a relaxing dinner. I'm going too."

Rachel sighs, giving in. "Okay."

A few hours later, Seth meets them outside Palladium Hall. He hugs her tightly, and doesn't let go until Rachel assures him that both she and Quinn are okay. She's a little surprised Garrett isn't with him.

"He's doing Garrett things," Seth says shrugging. "You know, bossing people around about nothing."

"That's not very nice," Rachel says lightly.

Seth laughs. "Nah, he's already trying to lineup another project. Besides, I figure we can all meet later this week once you're all settled in to discuss things related to Mason. I just want to treat you to dinner tonight."

Rachel nods her head tightly and then breathes easier. She doesn't like procrastinating, but she's not quite ready for  _that_  conversation.

Even though it's all that she's been thinking about.

* * *

"Hi," Quinn says.

"Hi," Rachel returns, smiling at hearing Quinn's voice through her phone. "How are you feeling?"

"Good," Quinn says. "Getting settled in. I don't particularly like arriving late for the semester, but mom's orders you know. I think you're about to drive Dharmi crazy with all your texts."

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

"Asking Dharmi three times an hour whether I seem paler than normal is not going to solve much. Besides, mom and Nathan are still here, and mom is being exceedingly  _mothering_  as is."

"Fine, I'll reduce the output of my texts."

"You can always just call me you know. I like hearing your voice," Quinn says softly.

Rachel's heart picks up its pace, and she bites her bottom lip, smiling shyly into the phone. She ignores everyone on the street with her, speaking lowly into the phone. "Maybe tonight we could… if you're feeling well enough."

"Oh?" Quinn says, and Rachel can practically see her eyebrow lifting. "And what about Beatrice?"

"She has a night class on Wednesdays."

"And Dharmi generally has her South Asian Society meetings…" Quinn says huskily. "You think we can make this a Skype thing?"

Rachel feels heat spilling through her blood, spiking below her stomach. They haven't been intimate since before the hospital, and Rachel would be lying to herself to say that she hasn't been craving Quinn's touch. "I think that sounds wonderful, but even if we don't get to… I still want to talk to you tonight."

"Rachel, what's wrong?" Quinn says, all hint of her bedroom voice gone.

"I'm on my way to meet with Seth and Garrett right now," Rachel says tightly.

"Oh Rach," Quinn says. "Why didn't you mention that earlier?"

Rachel swallows. It's true. She could have mentioned it on the phone yesterday. Or Monday. Or even Sunday night after getting home from dinner with Seth and Beatrice. But she didn't want to burden Quinn. Not when she knows Quinn will feel guilty. Not when it's going to be hard enough to tell them  _no_  as is.

"It's the only solution. I'm  _terrified_  of losing you, Quinn," Rachel says. "But it's still going to break me to have to shut down that dream all over again. To go back to being  _nothing_."

"No," Quinn says sharply. "You won't be nothing. You never have been nothing."

"I thought I'd lost my chance once before, but then, thanks to you, I got it all back."

"I just gave you a little push. You never lost your chance. You only lost your way for a little while. Neither of us would be where we are today without each other."

"I love you," Rachel says.

"Call me when you get done talking with them?" Quinn says.

"I will," Rachel says. "Bye."

"Love you too," Quinn says, and hangs up.

Rachel slips her phone back into her purse, spotting the coffee shop where she promised to meet Seth and Garrett just ahead. She marches in, letting warmth seep back into her veins. She spots them sitting in a corner, huddled up together.

"Hey Rachel," Garrett says easily. "You want anything to drink?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Rachel says, taking a seat. She doesn't want anything that could possibly distract her.

"First off, I'm glad to hear Quinn is doing better."

"Thank you," Rachel murmurs.

Garrett nods his head. "Of course. Seth told me some of the details, I can't imagine what that was like."

His words spark the memory, and Rachel struggles to keep her features neutral. Seth gives her a sympathetic smile, patting her hand.

Garrett clears his throat and continues. "Alright, after Quinn told us you were good for taking on Mason as your agent, he proceeded to do his thing. This party, you see, was just an embarrassment of producers and directors and donors. Broadway insiders, all of them. And there's all sorts of talk about this new musical, and it's already been booked for Off-Broadway. You have to understand—Mason wouldn't do this if he didn't honestly believe in you and think you're one in a million. You  _are_ , Rachel. I don't know if you understand that. And the thing is, Mason has a rep for picking out new talent. Everyone knows that and everyone respects him. Do you understand what I'm telling you? Mason secured an audition with a musical already being buzzed about and has gotten the producers and director to make sure to give you a good look."

Rachel's head swims.

She _dreams_.

Standing on the stage, she sings the finale—the uplifting closing number. Hitting the high notes in a crescendo of music as the curtain falls and the audience jumps to its feet. The curtain rises again for the cast, and the audience is still cheering. Her heart swells, disbelieving, pumping with adrenaline. And when she takes her final bow, the applause is deafening. Roses are thrown at her feet. There are cheers of her name. But she only has eyes for Quinn, sitting in the front row in that little black dress she wore to  _Off Course_. And Quinn stands clapping, a breathless smile across her face and her hazel eyes bright with color.

Rachel has everything she ever wanted.

"Rachel?" Seth says, and the world comes crashing down around her.

Her heart pounds. Her pulse races. Gray creeps along her skin.

"The audition is in three weeks so you have plenty of time to prepare," Garrett says softly. "Rachel, you have every opportunity before you. Something other people can only dream of. But you're one of those people who deserve it, who have the ability to make it.  _I_  know you are going to make it. Mason is betting on you. I'd bet on you."

"I would too," Seth says. "And unlike Garrett, I know what I'm talking about."

Garrett sends him a look. "Babe, don't even. Be glad you're so pretty."

Seth smirks, before turning his attention back to Rachel. "So you got anything to add Rachel?"

There's white noise in her ears. She sees the stage. She sees Quinn gasping for breath, the light leaving her eyes.

"Mason should be getting you the script shortly," Garrett says. "You can call him if you have any questions."

"He's really a cool guy," Seth adds. "I promise he'll only look out for your best interests."

"Are you okay Rachel?" Garrett says gently. "You seem a little…shell-shocked."

"And that's cool. It is exciting stuff!" Seth says. "But really, are you okay?"

They draw quiet at that, looking at her expectantly. Rachel can hear the tinkering of glasses, the whistle of the espresso machine. Rachel feels Quinn around her. The smoothness of her skin, the ghosting tips of hands, the press of lips at the nape of her neck, and the warm, tight heat that Rachel could get lost in forever. The memory of Quinn arching and trembling as she comes wordlessly burns in her mind.

"I…" Rachel begins thickly, "I  _can't_."

Seth blinks. "Rachel—what?"

"I can't. I just can't. I can't do it." She stands, shakily. The walls of the coffee shop are closing in on her.

"Rachel," Garrett says. She hears him only distantly. His voice seems muffled. "It's okay. Everyone gets nervous about these things."

" _No_ ," she says, stepping back from the table. "I can't. I'm sorry. Please don't ask me again."

She flees the coffee shop, ignoring the cries of her name. The world outside is gray.

* * *

That night, she calls Quinn on Skype as soon as Beatrice leaves their dorm for her class. And when she appears on her screen, the first thing Quinn says on seeing her is " _Oh Rach_ …"

The words spill out of Rachel then. Quinn listens and listens until finally, Rachel's jumble of words and phrases become tears. And Quinn sings then, something low and melodious that Rachel can't name.

As her eyes grow heavy and sleep overtakes her, the song ends. She hears Quinn's voice on the edge of consciousness. "I wish I could be there with you."

She wakes the next morning to find a blanket pulled over her and her laptop sitting on her desk. She casts a fond smile toward Beatrice, still sleeping soundly in her own bed, and whispers her thanks.

She trudges to class, her limbs sore and heavy. When she walks out of her 11:00 am lecture, Seth is waiting for her. He gently smiles in greeting, giving her a half smile. She approaches him wearily, but he doesn't say anything about the meeting yesterday. Instead he merely offers her his arm and asks her if she has any lunch plans. She doesn't. And just like that, she knows things are okay between them.

The following day, she takes the earliest train she can to New Haven for the weekend. Quinn pulls her into a tight embrace as soon as she steps onto the platform. They meet Dharmi for dinner, and she discretely leaves afterwards, disappearing with a soft "good night."

Rachel makes love to Quinn for hours in the darkness of the dorm. Gently. Slowly. Memorizing every touch and every taste and every wave of color. Her breath is stolen at the sight of Quinn coming undone in her arms.

Boarding the train back is almost impossible on Sunday even though Quinn already has plans to be in New York next weekend.

The week passes slowly. Mason emails her. The message sits in her inbox. Unread. Unopened.

She has lunch every day with Seth. He says nothing of Mason, of their meeting in the coffee shop. They talk about everything else instead. It's a gaping hole of discussion, and Rachel keeps expecting him to bring it up. He never does.

Quinn arrives in New York on Friday with pink cheeks and wearing about three sweaters. Rachel laughs and kisses her in greeting in the middle of Grand Central Terminal. They spend the night cuddled up in Rachel's bed watching Netflix. Saturday is Seth's birthday, and Garrett throws him a party that night. Both Rachel and Quinn plan to avoid alcohol. It goes unsaid that the memory of New Year's Eve is entirely too fresh in their minds. Within minutes of arriving with Beatrice, they're already having plenty of fun without it however. Both Seth and Garrett pay extra attention to Quinn. Seth sweeps her up to the space cleared for dancing in short order, dropping lines about how graceful Quinn is, before Rachel even gets a chance to ask her to dance.

Rachel is left pouting at them from the corner as Beatrice gently pokes fun at her. Seth purposefully guides Quinn by them, calling out as he twirls her. "My birthday, I dance with who I want!"

Quinn laughs, but catches Rachel's eye, sending her a playful grin. Rachel suppresses a smile and quickly zeroes in on Garrett, talking with some of the other Tisch students involved in  _Off Course_.

She leaves Beatrice with a dramatic roll of her eyes and marches over to Garrett. "You're dancing with me."

"It's generally considered polite to ask first," Garrett says. But he hands off his drink and holds out a hand. "Come on, let's go make our respective partners jealous."

Garrett is not quite at her skill level—he's focused his studies on directing and not on performance after all—but he's more than adequate. It's not like they're doing much that involves technical work anyway, and Rachel spends more time giggling at him than focusing on the dancing. Garrett guides them toward where Seth and Quinn are putting on quite the display of moves and winks at Rachel before purposefully bumping into them.

"Hey jerk, watch where you're going!" Garrett says playfully.

"You watch it," Seth shoots back with a wild grin.

"I think it's time to switch partners," Rachel says loudly between their flirting.

"I agree," Quinn says. Rachel feels heat flare through her as Quinn's eyes flick up and down her body before darkening.

"Good idea!" Seth says.

And before Rachel can really process it, Seth grabs her hands and pulls her away. She pouts as she realizes what he did, casting an exaggerated forlorn glance back to Quinn. "That's not really what I meant," she says.

"I know, but I wanted to talk to you anyway. I need a favor. Actually, consider it a request for my birthday," Seth says, his voice suddenly serious. He's pulled them to a corner slightly away from most of the partygoers and giving them a bit of privacy.

"Of course, what is it?" Rachel says, searching his features for any sort of clue.

"I might not be your levels of talented—"

"That's ridiculous! You are!"

"I don't necessarily agree, but thank you. Anyway, Mason's agreed to put my name out there and work on getting me some scripts."

"Really! That's amazing!" Rachel says. Her heart is doing something strange in her chest. There's genuine excitement. But there's also something ugly and dark. Jealously. Resentment. She turns her head, looking for Quinn. Rachel finds her through the crowd with ease, almost instinctively. Quinn tilts her head back in a laugh, and she's absolutely beautiful. Rachel returns her attention to Seth, the repugnant feelings squashed for now.

"The thing is—I understand if you don't want to—but it would mean everything if you would be up to practicing some audition pieces with me. I can't think of a better scene partner."

"I—I…" Rachel says, suddenly overwhelmed. Suddenly lost. She looks for Quinn again, and this time can't find her. It's a bad idea. It has to be. Her gaze finds its way back to Seth. He's watching her, hope and excitement uninhibited in his eyes.

It's just practicing scenes. It's not a performance.

It's not  _anything_.

"Please?" Seth says softly. Earnestly.

Rachel swallows. Breathes. "Okay."

"Yes!" Seth cheers, pumping a fist into the air. He then brings her into an exuberant hug, twirling them in a circle. "You're the best!"

"Don't say I've never done you any favors," Rachel says. She can't help but giggle at his excitement.

"You won't regret this! I promise!"

"That's a big promise to make. Especially considering that I'm now forced to spend time with you," Rachel says teasingly.

"Hey now, just remember I have your best interests at heart," Seth says. Rachel thinks his tone is strangely serious given the trajectory of their conversation, but it livens up with his next words. "You're still required to dance with me for a bit."

"No way," comes Quinn's smooth voice. Arms wrap themselves possessively around her waist from behind, and Rachel's heart races as Quinn presses up against her back.

"You're no fun," Seth says, protesting.

"You had your chance," Quinn says. "It's my turn."

"While it is  _my_  birthday party, and I could totally play that card, I won't duel you for Rachel's hand. I suppose I better find Garrett before he bores someone to death with one of his ideas. Enjoy yourselves ladies," Seth says with a wink. He turns into the crowd of partygoers, shouting, "It's my birthday!"

That earns him a raucous cheer from everyone who hears, and he's carried off through the crowd.

"So how about that dance?" Quinn says lowly into her ear.

At that, Seth is quickly forgotten. Rachel turns around in Quinn's arm and kisses her soundly, paying no mind to anything else in the world.


	9. Breaking

"I think that I may have agreed to something that I am going to regret last night," Rachel says into the space between Quinn's shoulder blades.

"Hmm? And what's that?" Quinn says sleepily.

Quinn is running the tips of her fingers up and down the arm Rachel has slung over her hip, and it's extremely distracting. Rachel pushes upward so that she's resting on her other elbow, and arching slightly over Quinn. She thinks it would be better to focus that way, but the late morning sun angling through the window is giving Quinn an ethereal glow, and that's even more distracting. Especially now when she can almost see down Quinn's pajama top.

"Rachel?" Quinn prompts again, turning her head to look toward her. Rachel quickly looks back to her face, but Quinn is already grinning so she knows she's been caught.

Quinn wraps an arm around her neck and pulls her down into a lazy kiss. Their lips slowly slide against each other, exchanging positions and pressure. Rachel hums contentedly out of the back of her throat, and pouts as the kiss ends.

They've been awake for the better part of an hour thanks to Beatrice. She came tearing into the room wearing her clothes from last night, took a one minute shower, and then ran back out shouting something about brunch. The fact that who ever she spent the night with is seemingly offering brunch is, Rachel thinks, quite impressive.

Rachel couldn't help but feel a little guilty for sleeping in after Beatrice had run out the door. She had managed to separate herself from Quinn and her bed in an admirable effort to get ready for the day. Quinn, with a bit of grumbling, had woken up too. But she had only stumbled her way into the bathroom and then stumbled right back into bed after taking care of necessities. Rachel offered her brunch as an enticement to greet the day, but she somehow ended right back in bed with Quinn too. Part of her wants to feel lazy for it, but another part of her thinks she could spend all day laying in her dorm room bed with Quinn. As it is, leaving Quinn's side is now the last thing on her mind.

"So what is this thing you are going to regret?" Quinn says, rolling over onto her back.

"I told Seth I would help him practice some audition scenes. Mason agreed to be his agent," Rachel says.

Quinn's eyes soften, her lips parting. There's no hint of a smile on her face. "Oh Rachel,  _I'm sorry_. I'm happy for Seth, but I know that has to be hard to hear."

"It was, but I've been selfish enough. I'm happy to help him," Rachel says thickly.

Quinn sits up quickly at that. She wraps a hand around the back of Rachel's neck, bringing their foreheads together. "You have  _not_  been selfish. It's your dream. It's your  _fate_."

"It  _was_  my fate. No matter how hard it is to forget."

"I still see you as a star. And I know you do too. The fact that you've continued to deny that part of you—I can't imagine how hard it is."

"It's your  _life_  Quinn," Rachel says. "And my selfish decisions have already nearly killed you."

"I've told you before," Quinn says, her voice sharpening, "you saved me."

Rachel swallows as Quinn's fingers massage into her neck and the base of her skull. She doesn't respond. Instead, she sits quietly, letting Quinn's touch and presence wrap around her.

"Rachel—all of this—it's still so impossible to believe no matter the evidence. No matter the gray that's in my dreams too. But no matter what, I love you," Quinn says into the silence.

Color explodes around those words and Rachel launches forward, onto her knees and pressing her lips against Quinn's. She threads her fingers into Quinn's hair and grabs gently—just enough pressure to signal that she's in charge. She captures Quinn's bottom lip between her own and presses in close. She adds her tongue into the kiss, delving into Quinn's mouth, unwilling to give either of them a moment to catch their breath. Her grip tightens as Quinn shudders, and Rachel can practically feel the moan that Quinn is suppressing.

Quinn shifts and her hands, which have been running up and down Rachel's sides, fingers playing over her ribs, slide purposefully to her breasts. Rachel releases the hold she has on the back of Quinn's head and lightly grabs her wrists. Quinn frowns into the kiss, but Rachel focuses on flicking her tongue in that one certain way that she knows drives Quinn wild. She continues only until Quinn melts into her completely. And when Rachel pushes gently against her, angling her back against the mattress, Quinn complies.

Rachel breaks from the kiss to hover over Quinn, to take in everything before her. Because Quinn is beautiful, but  _so much more than that_.

Yet Rachel has inflicted unimaginable suffering. High school couldn't destroy Quinn no matter how hard it tried, but Rachel… She's come far closer. It's her greatest sin. And there's no way to make up for it. The only thing she can do is  _show_  Quinn the extent of her regret.

But showing Quinn how sorry she is can't even begin to cover her feelings. One act can't show Quinn how much she means to her. One act can't show Quinn how much she loves her. But this one act is currently in her power so she will pour everything into it.

So Rachel kisses her, her heart racing, pounding in time with the fire in her blood. She settles her thigh in between Quinn's legs and her weight on top of her. She draws back from the kiss, but Quinn chases her. So Rachel kisses her again. And again. And Again. Until Quinn is left gasping and wanting, her body trembling.

Only then does Rachel pull back, and there's a pulse of a song in her head. There's color in her eyes.

But she gives Quinn no reprieve. No chance for the song or color to fade. Or the fire between them to do anything but kindle higher as she kisses Quinn's jaw. She tongues the vein on Quinn's neck and guides a hand up the line of her stomach.

Need reverberates through her as Quinn arches into her touch, but she refocuses it back into her ministrations.

Because this is about Quinn.

And Rachel's clumsy attempt to show her how much she means to her. Quinn deserves the world. Nothing will ever be enough, but that doesn't mean Rachel isn't going to try.

So she grabs the hands that have found their way to her ass, and brings them back up above Quinn's head. That only causes the arch of Quinn's back and the push upwards of her breasts to become even more pronounced. And Rachel, for once, wishes that she  _did_  have man-hands so she could hold both of Quinn's arms above her head with one, which would leave the other free to explore. Instead, she settles on keeping one hand touching Quinn's wrists above and hoping that's enough to signal to her that she's not to move.

Thankfully, Quinn obeys her silent command. Rachel kisses her deeply, trying to express  _everything_  she feels and pressing her thigh into Quinn's center. She traces her free hand over Quinn's hips and stomach, sliding under her sleep shirt. She feels Quinn's abdominals flex and quiver reflexively at her touch. Rachel's greedy, splaying her fingers as wide and as far as they can go to touch as much skin as possible. She pulls away, but immediately kisses her way down Quinn's jaw and neck, to her collarbone. She nips at the skin there, and her hand slides upward.

Quinn breathes shakily as Rachel palms her breast. That breath becomes more of a gasp as Rachel thumbs and tweaks the hardened nipples—first one and then the other. She lavishes attention to both, until Quinn's vaunted self-control slips even more, hips arching into her leg for relief.

Rachel sits up then, freeing Quinn's arms. She sheds her own cotton nightdress herself, pulling it slowly up her body and over her head. She tosses it to the side, not caring that it lands on floor of her dorm. Left naked but for her underwear, her eyes fall back on Quinn who's gaze is heavy and dark. Quinn wastes little time in reaching out to touch her, unsteady hands falling to Rachel's hips. Quinn's lips are parted, and her chest rises and falls dramatically with each of her breaths.

Rachel sits back on her haunches, pulling away from Quinn's hands and biting her lower lip coyly. "Come here," she says.

Quinn sits up so quickly that Rachel can't help but giggle. "Shush," Quinn says, blushing, but she leans forward and smiles into their kiss.

Quinn hands curve over her ribs heading upwards, but Rachel grabs them yet again before they reach their obvious destination. She separates from the kiss, shaking her head. "Not this time, Quinn," she says softly.

"Rachel?"

Rachel doesn't answer immediately; instead she lifts at the hemline of Quinn's top, pulling it upwards. Quinn wordlessly raises her arms, allowing Rachel to pull the shirt over her head. Rachel swallows, her blood pounding in her ears as Quinn is exposed.

"Let me love you right now," Rachel says lowly. "I love you  _always_ , but in this moment, I want to show you."

"You show me all the time," Quinn says, her brow furrowed.

Rachel leans forward until her lips are separated from Quinn's by millimeters. "Let me show you how much you mean to me," she says in the softest of whispers.

How much she feels—how much this one act isn't even close to expressing  _everything_ —is left unsaid. This is all that's in her power, in her reach right now. So she fervidly kisses Quinn, guiding her again down onto her back. Her hands find Quinn's hips, fingers dipping into the waistband of her soft, sleeping shorts.

Rachel parts from their kiss to press her lips and tongue down Quinn's skin. She's reverent. Burning love and devotion into each touch. Her descent halts as she reaches Quinn's breasts. She kisses around them, growing closer and closer to the areolas, ghosting over the nipples until—

" _Rachel_ ," Quinn breathes, a touch of desperation in her voice.

And Rachel takes one of the nubs into her mouth, swirling her tongue over it. One of Quinn's hands cups the back of her head while the other slides up and down her back, fingers digging slightly into skin. She flicks her tongue, and Quinn moans. The sound shocks down her body, and Rachel shifts, pressing herself further against Quinn instinctively.  _But this is about Quinn_ , so she resumes control by smoothing her hand down the line where Quinn's leg meets torso until she's cupping her through her sleep shorts.

The noise that escapes out of Quinn's throat is absolutely sinful. Rachel only barely resists the urge of taking Quinn right then.

Instead she pulls back entirely, hovering over Quinn. Her body and cheeks are flush, and Rachel watches as she swallows thickly, temporarily unable to tear her eyes from the muscles of Quinn's throat. She looks back up to hazel eyes and finds herself frozen by the emotion pooled there.

It's desire. It's trust. It's love.

It's  _everything_.

Rachel's heart pounds, and her chest grows heavy. It travels up through her throat and to her eyes. So Rachel kisses Quinn with all that she has before the tears can fall. Then she's moving down and away, hopeful that her hair will hide her face from that hazel gaze until she regains control. She takes her time, worshipping the pale skin, flex of smooth muscle, and every scar from every harm with her lips and tongue.

While Quinn never voices concern over her scars, Rachel knows she thinks about how they mar her skin. So she shows Quinn their beauty instead. Because those scars are life and strength and resilience. Rachel may hate that they trace back to  _her_ , but she finds them beautiful for their vitality all the same. Quinn shudders as Rachel focuses her attention on the scar tissue from the chest tube.

"It still feels weird," Quinn says breathlessly.

Rachel doesn't respond, but instead gropes for Quinn's right hand. Quinn catches on to her actions and helps, interlocking their fingers. Rachel squeezes, not at all hard, but certainly desperately.

She leaves a final press of her lips on the scar and kisses her way over Quinn's ribs and stomach. She marks a burning path down to her hips, finally meeting the resistance of Quinn's shorts. She hooks her fingers into the waistband and Quinn lifts her hips, easing the process of sliding them off.

Kneeling at Quinn's feet, Rachel looks down the length of her in awe. It's nearly incomprehensible that Quinn loves her. But  _she does_. No matter the things that Rachel has done.

"What?" Quinn says softly, blushing. She looks away, biting her lower lip.

Rachel quickly comes out of her stupor. She moves, sliding up over Quinn to hover above her. "You're beautiful," Rachel says tenderly.

She kisses her again and teases her hand along the line of Quinn's underwear, fingers edging underneath. She strokes the soft skin there, getting closer and closer until she finally dips into the warm wetness. Quinn breaks from the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, and one of her hands clutches the back of Rachel's neck.

Rachel keeps her gaze on Quinn as she adjusts to gain better access. Her heart leaps somewhere into her throat as Quinn gives another breathy sigh and spreads her legs a little more. Quinn's gaze travels south only to return back to meet her stare. It's electric. Color pounds in time with her heartbeat. Their eye contact only breaks once Quinn's eyes flutter close when Rachel focuses her ministrations entirely on Quinn's clit. Her index and middle finger work slowly at first, gently pressing and circling. She picks up speed, and a soft whimper slips out of the back of Quinn's throat.

The grip Quinn has on the back of her neck tightens even more when Rachel shifts, moving her hand further south. She slowly enters inside Quinn, easing two fingers into the tight heat. Quinn contracts around her fingers, and Rachel's own body pulses and begs for relief. But she's gentle, slowly sliding in and out. She is rewarded with Quinn's eyes opening to reveal a dark hazel gaze. Quinn's lips press tightly together, and Rachel inherently knows that she's resisting asking for more. So she adds a third finger. Quinn breathes deeply when she does, her eyes closing once again and her head tipping back to expose the column of her throat.

She keeps her slow pace and curls her fingers at the end of each pump of her hand. Rachel watches in fascination and wonderment at the expressions crossing Quinn's features. She tears her gaze away only by reminding herself that there is so much more that begs for attention. She leans down kissing the breasts arching toward her. Quinn trembles underneath her, and finally a low moan passes from her lips again.

She maintains her steady rhythm, the curl of her fingers. She's loathed to leave Quinn when all that she wants is to be buried inside of her forever, but she does pull her fingers out for a final time. She sits back up, conscious of Quinn's heavy gaze. She slips her fingers under the band of Quinn's underwear, and slides them off her hips and down her legs. Rachel swallows heavily and then licks her lips, taking in all of Quinn once the underwear has been discarded. Her heart is somewhere in her throat because this  _goddess_  is looking back at her with dark, wanton eyes.

So she leans down, kissing Quinn above her left knee. She edges upwards slowly, drawing out each touch of her lips against Quinn's thigh. She comes closer and closer to Quinn's center, and she can hear Quinn's breath pick up in anticipation. She kisses just above the wet heat, and she can practically feel the throbbing need. But instead of giving her any relief, Rachel finds the line where leg meets torso, and traces up it with her tongue.

"Rachel,  _please_ ," Quinn says desperately, her composure cracking further.

"Soon. I promise," Rachel breathes against her skin.

She kisses down Quinn's right thigh from her hip. She reaches her knee and travels back up. Quinn grows tense again and grabs Rachel's hand. She squeezes hard as Rachel sucks on the skin of her inner thigh. Rachel looks up at Quinn whose eyes are pleading with want and need. So she shifts for the last time, breathing over her. And finally, Rachel brings her lips to Quinn's clit.

Quinn shudders at the first touch. " _Rachel_ ," she murmurs shakily.

Rachel's own body throbs with need, but she focuses entirely on Quinn, smoothing the flat of her tongue along the wet length from her entrance to the hood of her clit. One of Quinn's hands gently rests against the back of her head. Rachel brings an arm up to Quinn's breasts and finds Quinn's other hand resting there lax and uncertain. So Rachel edges underneath the hand with her own, tweaking the nipple and Quinn immediately grips her wrist.

Her nose brushes Quinn's clit as she circles the opening with her tongue, teasing the entrance. She dips inside. It's new territory for the both of them, but as Quinn's walls flutter around her tongue, Rachel wants nothing more than to plunge in again and again. So she does as Quinn flexes around her. She brings the hand not busy with Quinn's breasts to her clit, rubbing her thumb against the inflamed nub. She keeps her tongue pumping in and out of Quinn, but it's hard to maintain all three actions. While enthusiastic, the movements of her hands are sporadic and irregular so she refocuses her efforts.

For the final pump of her tongue, she's slow to exit, making sure they both feel the slip of movement against every ridge and smooth pane of Quinn's walls. Once free, Rachel licks the short distance upwards. She moves her hand, freeing access to Quinn's clit. She tucks that arm under Quinn's thigh, wrapping it around her hip so that her hand comes to rest low across her stomach. It's a poor attempt to hold Quinn in place because her hips arch more and more as Rachel flicks her tongue back and forth.

Quinn tenses further. Her fingers dig into Rachel's scalp. And then she begins rocking her hips into her, and Rachel knows her control is completely shattered.

Rachel continues the strokes of her tongue, the tweaking of her fingers against Quinn's nipples. She listens as Quinn holds her breath for one moment only to release it in short pants the next. Quinn strains, her body trembling, the grip she keeps on Rachel's wrist tightens impossibly. And Rachel knows she's close. She presses on, hoping and hoping Quinn understands that this isn't just sex, but so much more. Because she can keep her eyes on Quinn forever.

Then Quinn's head tips back, hiding her face from Rachel's eyes except for the line of her jaw. Rachel doesn't let up the strokes of her tongue as Quinn completely stills for a single heartbeat. Muscles locked. Breath held.

And then Quinn falls apart all because of her, coming violently.

The hand on the back of Rachel's head presses tightly as Quinn shudders and shakes, completely lost to the pleasure. A long moan escapes from her lips. Rachel feels just as breathless at the feel and sight of Quinn. She squeezes her thighs together for a second of relief because it's all so impossibly erotic and her body is  _throbbing_.

There's color everywhere.

Quinn finally relaxes with a sigh, coming down from her high. Rachel places a parting kiss against the bruise rapidly forming on Quinn's inner thigh thanks to her mouth as Quinn reaches for her, pulling her up. Rachel discretely wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before leaning in to kiss Quinn.

"That was…" Quinn says, her voice thick. Shaky. Her hazel eyes are bright. "…I don't…I… _wow._ "

"I love you," Rachel whispers. "So much."

When Quinn echoes the confession back, Rachel's content.

* * *

Seth knocks at her door early Wednesday evening. "You ready?" he greets with a dashing smile.

Rachel pulls on a pair of earmuffs and gloves, and grabs her purse. "Of course. Bye Bee, enjoy your night class!"

Beatrice grumbles something from her bed, but manages to look up from her textbook long enough to flash a quick smile goodbye.

Seth escorts her down the hallway. "So I figured that we'd try the performance hall where we did  _Off Course_  that way we actually have a stage. Makes it—I don't know—more realistic. I checked, and there shouldn't be anything going on there tonight."

"That's fine by me," she says. "Whatever you think is best for you."

Seth presses the button for the elevator and gives her a look that Rachel can't quite figure out. "So you did get a chance to read through the selections I sent you?" he says after a moment.

"When have I ever done anything by halves?" Rachel says, as they board the elevator. "I promised you I would help, and to do so to the best of my abilities I am ready to embody every character you sent my way."

Seth gives her a smile. "You're really something else, and I mean that in the best way possible."

Rachel returns his smile. "You are too," she says sincerely. She checks her phone for the time as the elevator doors ding open at the ground floor. "If we hurry we can catch the bus."

She sets her pace at brisk walk. Seth has no problem keeping up with his long strides. She can feel the cold seeping through the entrance doors before she even reaches them and is glad for her earmuffs and gloves. They managed to dash onto the bus just before it pulls out, taking a pair of open seats after giving a breathless thanks to the driver.

"Garrett is going to meet us there," Seth says as the bus begins moving. He stretches his long limbs out, casting a friendly arm around the back of her seat. "He's videotaping my performance so we can review it with a bit more objectivity later."

Rachel nods her head. "That's a smart decision. If I were in your position, I would do the same."

The bus jolts as it hits a pothole, the occupants inside shifting in response. Seth squeezes her shoulder. "It's not too late to change your mind you know. Mason's offer is still on the table. I think it always will be for you."

Rachel thinks of Quinn. She remembers Quinn shuddering around her. The color drifting subtly off her skin and shining out of her eyes. She thinks of how it still isn't enough. "No," she says. It's surprisingly easy. "I can't."

This time, Seth doesn't let it go. "I don't get you Rachel. This is why people go to Tisch! Why else are you here?"

"I know!" Rachel says, snapping. Guilt immediately floods her at the hurt that flashes across Seth's face. "I'm sorry. Just  _please_ , let it go."

"Can I say one more thing?" Seth asks quietly.

Rachel nods her head. She can give him that much.

"Whatever it is that's holding you back, I hope you're able to shake it because you are meant for the stage. To waste talent like yours should be a crime."

Rachel squeezes her eyes shut, forcing out the daydream of having Broadway, Quinn, and  _everything_. "Thank you," she says, strained.

The rest of the ride is silent but comfortable thanks to Seth's carefree demeanor. He touches her shoulder, humming lightly to himself. They arrive at Washington Square Park and hop off the bus, back into the cold. Seth offers an arm, escorting her toward the building that houses the performance hall.

"Thank you for doing this for me," Seth says as he holds open the door to building.

"It's no problem at all," Rachel says, stepping inside and breathing in the warm air. "But, I might just have to call in a favor or two later."

"That's only fair," Seth says lightly.

"I gathered from your email that you want me to help set the stage and frame of reference for your monologues?" Rachel says as they walk down the hallway. There are a couple of evening classes in session and a few students moving through the building, but it's mostly quiet.

"That's the plan. It really helps me if I have some scene buildup before diving into a potential monologue. That way, come the actual audition, I'll have all context and characterization in place in my head. That's not too strange is it?"

"No," Rachel says, shooting him a smile. "On the list of strange things you've done, this falls far to the bottom."

Seth gives her a playful glare.

"Besides, I've heard and seen of people doing far stranger things in preparation for an audition. Some extended acting is really not all that odd."

"My thoughts exactly," Seth says. He opens the door to the performance hall, gesturing for her to step inside first. "After you, madam."

Rachel walks in, finding Garrett inside and setting up a tripod in the middle of the aisle. "Hi Garrett," she says brightly.

"Rachel," Garrett says, turning around in greeting with a smile. "After watching her at the party on Saturday, I've decided that Quinn is a fox. You better hang on to her."

"That's what I've been saying all along," Seth says. He brushes by Rachel to loop an arm around Garrett's waist. He presses a quick kiss to Garrett's temple.

"Right, yes," Garrett says dramatically. "But I needed to see for myself. So, are you two ready?"

Rachel sheds her outerwear, setting them across the back of one of the seats. She eyes the stage, memories from that one night performance of  _Off Course_  flashing through her mind. "I am if Seth is," she says distractedly.

"Let's get to it. Hopefully I won't have to keep you here all night, Rachel," Seth says.

"And what about me?" Garrets says playfully.

She hears their ensuing banter distantly, and it grows increasingly faint. The stage looms in front of her. She slowly approaches the steps leading up to it on the side. There's a flush of music, lines echoing in her head from her costar. She steps on onto the stage. The last note dies and there's the roar of the audience. Roses land at her feet. Quinn approaches in her black dress, holding out a single gardenia. Rachel takes it and kisses her soundly.

"You alright?" Seth says, clapping her on the shoulder as he brushes by.

Rachel blinks and shakes her head. "Oh yes, sorry. Just thinking."

_Dreaming._

* * *

Seth's practice goes well. Rachel thinks they actually do have a lot of stage chemistry, which certainly makes things easier. They only redo each of the scenes a few times each, but Seth had outlined some fairly extensive dialogue exchanges for each of his choices—and even some parts that cut close to being a monologue for her too—so it does take some time. She doesn't question its necessity even for providing a contextual reference. She just enjoys her moment on stage.

When it's over, she forces herself not to think of the adrenaline shooting through her veins or how much the stage feels like home.

Both Seth and Garret escort her back to Palladium Hall. She doesn't talk much, and thankfully the boys are too wrapped up in each other to notice.

She can feel herself unraveling. She says a harried goodbye to both outside Palladium Hall. They shout their thanks and then disappear into the night. Rachel calls Quinn as soon as she crosses the threshold of the front entrance.

"Hey," comes Quinn's soft alto. It cuts through the noise of the dorm, and already Rachel can feel her world retake shape. "How was it?"

"It went fine. I just wanted… I just want to hear your voice," Rachel says. "Tell me about your day?"

"It was pretty boring," Quinn says.

"Tell me about anything," Rachel says, trying her best to keep her tone steady.

"Okay," Quinn says patiently and without hesitation. "We got assigned our first paper in my modern drama class and I really think I'm going to write on…"

* * *

Rachel gets swamped with work over the next two days from her lecture classes. It's definitely that time of the semester when things start picking up. But what makes her really stress is the email from her New Studio professor asking her to meet him in his office Monday afternoon.

On top of it all, it's a weekend without Quinn.

Rachel knows she has struggled with being clingy in the past. The distance between New York and New Haven has been good for ensuring she can maintain her self and independence. It's a maturing process for her, and she knows it's the hallmark of a good relationship that she isn't adhering to Quinn constantly. But that doesn't mean she doesn't miss her. And right now, everything—the fresh memory of Quinn struggling to breathe, the temptation of the stage, the pressures of school—is much too much. All she wants is to huddle against Quinn until it all blows over and the color returns.

She settles for a Skype chat on Saturday night when Beatrice goes out to dinner.

Quinn is in an over-sized Yale sweatshirt with her hair pinned to the back of her head. Rachel thinks she looks incredibly sexy. But she has always thought of Quinn as attractive—even when things between them weren't the best.

"Do you ever think about the way things could have gone differently?" Rachel says

"Like if I had died?" Quinn says evenly. "The thought has crossed my mind on the occasion. You would be famous by now. Nothing would stop you. Nothing could stop you. You'd change the world, Rachel."

Rachel closes her eyes briefly, the words hitting home. It's impossible to hear. That dream has passed. Despite Quinn's certainly. "That isn't the difference I meant. But, just to say, you're completely ignoring the affect your death would have had on me. Quinn, I was  _desperate_ that day. Desperate enough to negotiate with Fate. So what I mean is—do you ever think about the way things could have gone differently for us in high school?"

"If I had been braver," Quinn says. "True to my self..."

"And if I hadn't been so blinded by how I envisioned things should play out… If I was braver too… Quinn, I was always so obsessed with you."

"Stalker much, Rachel?" Quinn says teasingly. Rachel suppresses her smile, grateful they can laugh at high school now. "We both were obsessed with each other."

"Everything that happened at McKinley seems so absurd now," Rachel says.

"It does. But you know, everything started for me when I heard you sing for the first time. I knew that you were going to get out of Lima and achieve your dreams. It was everything I wanted, and then  _you_  were everything I wanted."

It's  _hard_  to hear Quinn's certainty. It's  _hard_  to hear how much she believes in her. So she focuses on the last words that passed from Quinn's lips instead. "You have me now."

"Yeah," Quinn says, a shy smile. Her eyes light up in such a way that even Rachel can see it across the computer screen. "I do."

* * *

"Good afternoon Rachel," her professor says as she walks into his office. He's leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk while flipping through some papers. The office is rather bare except for the stacks of documents cluttering his desk and chairs.

"Good afternoon," Rachel echoes. She gingerly takes the one open seat, cattycornered to his desk.

"Is your semester going well?" he says, putting his feet on the ground and throwing the sheets in his hands onto the indiscernible piles on his desk.

"So far," she says, relaxing a bit. "Classes are keeping me busy, but that is to be expected at a university like NYU."

"Indeed. Well let me cut to the chase," he says. "The rest of the New Studio faculty—and some of the other acting schools' faculty for that matter—has had a chance to watch  _Off Course_  and everyone is very impressed."

Rachel sits up straighter. "I didn't realize the recording was going to be viewed by so many," she says carefully.

"We like to assess the talent in Tisch without the academic pressures when we can. It can be a much better indicator of talent."

"Oh."

"Everyone was in agreement. You turned in a masterful performance, and I think there's still room to grow."

Rachel can feel her heart beat violently, hammering through her body. "Thank you," she says stiffly.

"We'll be auditioning for our marquee spring musical soon. I expect you to try for the lead role. I know you're a transfer, and maybe that's part of the reason you didn't push for much last semester, but opportunities are just waiting to be seized. No one with your kind of talent should sit quietly in the back of class."

The only thing Rachel can do is quietly nod her head.

"Now, as great as your performance in  _Off Course_  was, I would like to take a little time going through some sections of it with you," he says. He swivels his computer monitor toward her so that they can both see. The empty stage of the performance hall sits paused on screen. "I just want to remark on a couple of parts you did extraordinarily well and some other parts that could have some room for improvement. Sound good?"

Rachel takes a breath. She hates how much she wants this. She hates how she feels her heart picking up in excitement. She hates how this is everything she dreamed of. "Sure."

* * *

By the time Friday finally rolls around, she anxious to see Quinn. The week has been hard. It's been almost impossible to focus on anything. Her thoughts continuously run with the performance suggestions that her professor had made Monday during their review of  _Off Course_.

_It doesn't matter_ —she tells herself. It becomes a mantra. That life is not hers to live.

She sits in her last class of the day, anxious for the time to pass so she can get to Grand Central Terminal to pick up Quinn. Her phone buzzes in her school bag, and she resists pulling it out. While it might help the time pass by quickly, Rachel is ardent in her studies and she thinks it would be incredibly rude to the professor—no matter what her classmates seem to think.

The secondhand ticks slowly by.

Finally, the lecture comes to an end and she rushes out of the classroom bundling up in her scarf and gloves as she goes.

Her phone buzzes with yet another new text, and she checks it distractedly, remembering it's incessant notifications during class. She sees that all her unread messages are from Seth. The latest reads.  _"Where are you!?"_

She responds.  _"Just got out of class. You should know my schedule by now. I made you a calendar. :("_

She's outside and hurrying toward the subway entrance by the time Seth's reply comes.  _"Oh yeah. Sorry. OK what are you doing right now?"_

" _Going to Grand Central to pick up Quinn_."

She gets his reply inside the station.  _"That works perfectly. Going to meet you there!"_

Perplexed, she sends a quick text as she hears the rush of an approaching train.  _"Why?"_

She boards the train, wondering why Seth is talking about meeting her at Grand Central. Lacking reception to find out his response, she casts her perplexity from her mind and instead focuses on the fact that she'll be seeing Quinn soon. That's enough to make her smile and momentarily forget her worries.

When she disembarks the subway at Grand Central Terminal, she checks her phone messages again, but there is nothing new from Seth. She opts to send a quick text to Quinn instead.  _"Just arrived at the station. Can't wait to see you! 3"_

The response comes quickly.  _"Me too. See you soon. Love you. x"_

Rachel smiles and tucks her phone away. Despite her desire to get to Grand Central so quickly, she has a little time to kill before Quinn's train arrives. She decides to purchase some chai tea while she waits. When she heads back into the main concourse to grab a seat, cup of steaming tea in hand, her phone buzzes again.

It's Seth.  _"Alright we're here. Where are you?"_

" _Looking at the train gates in the concourse. What is going on?"_

She spots them before they see her and before she gets a response. It's Seth, Garrett, and a man she can never forget because of everything he represents—Mason.

The concourse is tossed into gray. The world pauses for a heartbeat, silent and still. She sucks in a breath, and feels the blood rush through her as Grand Central comes alive again.

"Seth!" she says, getting to her feet and making her way toward them.

Mason spots her first and smiles broadly. "There she is," he says, which capture Seth and Garrett's attention in turn.

"Rachel!" Seth says, striding in quick steps toward her. He picks her up in a hug with a huge smile. "Please don't be mad."

"What do you mean?" she says suspiciously when Seth sets her down.

"You got the part!" Mason says excitedly.

"What part?" she says quizzically.

"The off-Broadway show!" Mason says.

"But I didn't audition for anything," Rachel says slowly.

"True, and I wasn't sure if the videos would be enough to convince Gregg and Laurel. But they were! So how about it Miss Berry, are you ready for your big break?"

Her head is swimming. "I'm sorry, but  _what_? What videos? What audition? What is going on?"

"You don't know," Mason says, his brow furrowing. He rounds on Seth and Garrett who are looking sheepish behind him. "I don't care what your attentions were—what you did is essentially fraud."

Garrett steps forward, eyes on her. "Rachel, I know you said you weren't interested—that you couldn't do it—but this is huge. People  _die_  for this kind of opportunity."

Quinn falls in her mind's eye, light vanishing from her eyes. Rachel's heart jumps into her throat, and she opens her mouth to speak; to say that's exactly the point. But the words get caught as Seth jumps into the conversation.

"I'm sorry for not listening. We're sorry for not listening," he says gesturing toward Garrett. "I know the best of friends listen and understand, but you're at  _Tisch_  and this role is everything."

"It's okay," Rachel murmurs just loud enough to be heard over the hum of the concourse.

"You're not mad?" Seth says.

Rachel shakes her head, feeling faint.

Seth gives her a relieved smile. "I know you have your reasons, but as soon as Mason called Garrett to let him know, we rushed over to his office to get the details. And because it's right around the corner from here, we thought we would meet you here to tell you. I figured that…Are you okay?"

"I need to sit down," Rachel says.

"Right, right, of course!" Seth says. He takes her by the arm, leading her back to the bench she had previously occupied.

Mason settles down on one side of her while Seth takes the other. Garrett stands, hovering, concern painting his features. Rachel breathes. Gray pulses in her with each heartbeat.

"While I don't agree with what the boys did, you still got the part Rachel. It's all yours if you want it."

"I don't understand how I got the part," she says. Her head feels heavy.

"Garrett sent me a copy of  _Off Course_  and some videos of you performing with Seth. I edited the content to best showcase your talents for the part. I was under the impression that there were some family problems, which is why you refrained from contacting me and why you couldn't make the audition."

"Oh," Rachel says.

"Gregg and Laurel, the producer and director, loved you. It took a bit of arm-wrangling to convince them that you deserved the part despite not being there for an in-person audition. And they do want to arrange a lunch as soon as possible just in case you don't come off in person like you do on video. But I don't think you have much to worry about," Mason says, smiling gently.

Rachel shakes her head adamantly. "I can't take the part."

"Just think about it for a moment," Seth says. "There's no need to be hasty."

Rachel brushes her hands over her face, slowly breathing in and out. She wishes she had a glass of water to down instead of her tea, which is still steaming. She watches the thin stream of smoke rise out of the hole in the lid, and finds it surprisingly relaxing.

"This is everything I ever dreamed of," she says after a moment. "It's…I can't believe it. I could say that I made it. That I succeeded. I got my dream."

Mason's smile is still gentle and genuine. "That's right. It's yours if you want it. I don't know what's holding you back. If it's school, if it's nerves, if it's something personal, that's okay. You don't have to share. But you should really think long and hard about what's keeping you from your dream."

Her phone vibrates in that moment, and she knows it has to be Quinn. It chases away the vision of her opening night performance off-Broadway. Of songs and lines and the audience's breathless excitement. Of flowers and applause and Quinn kissing her in her black dress.

Because now she sees Quinn smiling at her in her dorm, the way she arches into her touch, the way her eyes light up when she starts talking about her classes, and the way she knows Quinn will go so far in life.

The thought of losing that. The thought of losing Quinn. The thought of killing Quinn wrecks her completely.

"It's important—what's holding me back," she says thickly. "It's more important than anything. It terrifies me. I don't mean not to be honest with you. Especially you Seth—you've been a great friend to me. But I just…"

She trails off and all three men jump in, arguments flying off their tongues, attempting to persuade her otherwise.

She watches the gates leading to the trains where she knows Quinn will emerge. She waits, wanting more than anything to see her  _right now_ , barely cognizant of the words flying fast and free in efforts to convince her to say yes. Everything around her is muted and gray.

She distantly hears a phone ringing. It's not hers. Mason shifts next to her, pulling out his cell from his jacket. "Hi Laurel," he says.

Seth and Garrett still spout argument after argument beside her.

"I'm talking to her right now actually," Mason says. Strangely, she hears his voice more than Seth and Garrett's. "You need to know? Laurel, come on, give—"

Seth and Garrett are nothing but friendly, doing their best to understand why anyone would throw this chance away. Rachel's blood hammers through her temples. A headache sprouts out of nowhere.

"—okay, I'll arrange the lunch.  _That a yes enough for you guys_?" Mason's says.

And then— _finally_ —Quinn appears. She's wrapped up in a red coat, distinguishing herself from New Yorkers' dressed in black around her. Rachel stands. Quinn shines with color.

"Rachel?" Seth says.

"Rachel?" That's Garrett.

"Rachel," says Mason, his voice pleading for her attention. "Just do this lunch. That's enough of a  _yes_  to tide them over. Your fate is on Broadway. Don't just give it up."

Rachel ignores them all, stepping toward Quinn who spots her. A smile lights up on Quinn's face that Rachel can see even from across the concourse. Rachel returns it.

" _She'll do it_ ," Mason says, a tinge of desperate finality in his voice.

Rachel takes a step forward, and when her foot hits the ground, she's standing in an infinite gray expanse. There's nothing of Grand Central Terminal. No sights. No sounds. No people. Only endless gray.

" **It is broken."**

The voice echoes around her, humming with power and purpose and soul.

And Rachel comes gasping out of the gray realm of Fate, back into the thriving, living station.

Only to watch Quinn's step falter.

Only to witness Quinn drop her weekend bag.

Only to view Quinn clutch her arms around her, curling into herself.

Only to hear Quinn scream one singular pure note of agony.

Only to see Quinn fall.


	10. Fate

She's numb.

Nothing but the steady tick of the secondhand exists. Nothing else has meaning. Nothing matters.

She has lost  _everything_.

And she only has herself to blame.

* * *

Quinn still breathes.

Her chest rises and falls. Her blood rushes from her heart to her fingers and toes.

Quinn lives in the most basic meaning of the term. Machines hum around her, keeping her suspended in life.

But there's  _nothing_.

* * *

Brain dead.

_Brain dead_.

The official diagnosis hasn't been made. The clinical tests indicated a lack of neurological functioning. But the confirmatory tests have yet to be performed. The doctors made it clear—Quinn is more than likely dead. Not unconscious. Not a coma. But dead. Lacking all electrical impulses in her brain. Her body viable, but without response. Nothing of  _Quinn_  present. Only flesh and bone.

The stark delivery of those words wrecked her.

There were emergency personnel already at Grand Central Terminal. They stabilized her within moments. Quinn was at the hospital and on life-support in just a few minutes more. It happened in a commotion of sound and movement and a sickening sensation rising through her gut and lungs and throat, blackening everything in its wake. Her insides charred to the point of ash, and whatever is now left rots and festers.

It hasn't even been a day.

It feels like forever.

She knows her traitorous heart keeps beating, but she can't sense it. She sees, but it's dark. She hears, but it's muted. She's exhausted, but she can't sleep.

_She can't feel anything_  but the ticking of the secondhand ever circling and giving meaning to death and life.

Every time she closes her eyes, she hears Quinn's scream and sees her fall. She's stuck in a permanent nightmare of her own creation. It's agony. And it's the least of what she deserves. She's a wretch. A reprobate. A sinner of the highest order.

She chose Quinn's life. And she would make that choice every time. But she wanted everything too much. She dreamed too much. She was too weak. And now she has nothing left.

Because there is  _nothing_  that is worth Quinn's life.

Nothing excuses what's she done. Nothing. No matter how she's been torn asunder between two fates. No matter the temptations that have been laid in front of her. She is pathetic. Despicable. And Quinn is the one who pays the price.

Beatrice sits beside her. Rachel's not even sure when she arrived. She runs a hand up and down her back. Rachel deserves none of her companionship, but Beatrice ignored her when she cried out as much. She figures Seth or Garrett must have called her after Rachel screamed at them. She vaguely recalls the words spilling out of her mouth, angry and raw and incomprehensible. They're still here, sitting a few rows over. They're giving her space after her rage. But none of it was truly directed at them. They've lied. They mislead her. And Mason is an agent. Money is his business no matter how well intentioned he may be.

But this is on her. It's all on her.

She sits in a desolate haze. A pinch of hope, but despite it—that frail human optimism—she knows the worst is coming. Like standing on a frozen pond and hearing the ice start to break beneath you. Like going down a set of stairs and starting to feel your feet slip. Like turning your head and seeing headlights bear down upon you. She's suspended in these moments. She only knows that hours pass. The only meaning is the tick forward of the secondhand as it grows closer and closer to the ultimate punishment—confirmation of Quinn's death.

In her heart of hearts, where hope has been truly ravaged,  _she knows_.

After the voice in gray. She knows that is all that can possibly remain.

"Rachel?" comes a broken utterance.

She forces herself to hang on a little longer as a body settles into the vacant chair next to her. On her other side, Beatrice grips her shoulder briefly, before standing up and quietly treading away. Rachel takes in the blonde hair and neatly pressed attire. Then there's the red-rimmed eyes and pronounced stress lines.

"Ms. Fabray," she chokes. She can't call her Judy. Not now. Her heart feels as if it's being squeezed, tighter and tighter. The only relief would be a complete rupture, the truth of everything surging out with her blood.

"Quinn's been living on borrowed time hasn't she?" Judy says softly. It stops the impending rupture.

It stops everything.

Rachel is frozen.

"Back then, the doctors said there was no way she should have survived that car accident. That she did was miracle. That she recovered like she did was a miracle. Everything that's happened since… They tell me there is no way her body should have been able to recover from so much trauma so easily each time. But she does," Judy says, her voice growing tight with each passing word. "I keep hoping and hoping… But fate is cruel."

Judy sniffs, and Rachel stays frozen. She feels her heartbeat now. And it's painful hammer in her chest.

"Now that I've arrived, the doctors have started running the final tests to…to make sure that there is no brain activity. That there's nothing still left of her."

The words hang between them and Judy trembles.

"Even though they haven't absolutely confirmed… _brain death_ …yet they asked me to start considering organ donation. I think Quinn would like that. She was always so caring when it really mattered. I don't know where she got that from—certainly not from me, and certainly not from Russell."

There's a measure of self-loathing in Judy's words. Rachel is achingly familiar with it. It sears and burns in her blood. Judy has ignited everything again—and she remembers why she went numb in the first place. Because it  _hurts_. It's unimaginably painful. It presses and presses and presses. Crushing her. Scarring her.

Because it's all on her. She's responsible for Quinn's suffering.

… _For Quinn's death._

"I haven't always done right by Quinn. In fact, I've been a terrible mother," Judy continues. Her voice is little more than a whisper. "But I like to think I've been better. I thought we would have more time. I can't—I never imagined that I would  _bury my own daughter_. But…I want to thank you, Rachel."

"Thank me?" Rachel says thickly.

"She was always a sad child. I… I failed her so much. But I've never seen her so happy as she was then when she was with you. You made her feel loved.  _You_  made her happy. Thank you. Thank you for giving her all the beautiful things that life has to offer."

"I… I…" Rachel says, quivering. She's on her feet. It's hard to breathe. It's hard to think.

Judy is talking in the past tense. Like Quinn's already dead.  _She is, she is_ , something dark hisses in her mind,  _and it's your fault_.  _You killed her_. But Quinn's not dead yet.  _She's not_. They're still running tests. She still breathes even if it's with the aid of a machine. Even though the doctors said she lacked response to any external stimuli. There could still be something! Anything! All it takes is one small electric pulse of activity, and…

But Rachel knows.  _She knows_.

That's all that can remain after the gray voice's proclamation.

Judy watches her with forlorn eyes. Rachel backs away. She needs… She needs…

_She needs Quinn to hold her._

…But  _she can't_.

She won't ever again.

Her phone rings into the quiet space left between them, and Rachel flinches. She scrambles forward, quickly grabbing her bag, which she left at the foot of her chair. She stumbles backwards, unable to escape Judy's tearful gaze. She finally gains the strength to turn only to bump into a solid figure. She recoils.

It's only Nathan. He grabs her by the shoulders, steadying her. He doesn't say anything, merely gives her a sad, soulful stare as Rachel's phone finally falls silent. He releases her with a pat on the shoulder, striding quickly toward Judy, speaking something in a low, soothing voice as she descends into tears.

Rachel is left standing in the middle of the waiting room.

She's never felt so alone. So hollow. So worthless.

Her phone rings again. She starts. It was just a distraction at first. Something to use to get away from the Judy Fabray's glimmering eyes. But now she fishes for her phone, clutching it in a tight fist. She peaks at the screen, and her blood screams in her ears at the sight of "Santana Lopez."

She shakes as she answers. "S-Santana?"

"I-I heard. My mother said… Is… Is she okay?" Santana's voice is weak, wary.

The words sit on the tip of her tongue. The truth, all of it, stands on precipice. She wonders in sick fantasy if Santana's rage would make her feel a shred better—if it would make her feel something other than the crushing weight against her and the hollowness in her heart. But then she thinks she doesn't even deserve that.

As she hesitates, she spots them. Quinn's doctors. They march purposefully toward Judy and Nathan.

Their expressions say it all.

As miserable as she's been, Rachel thought she was as ready as she could be to hear the likely verdict. She grossly underestimated herself. Nothing could prepare her for the lacerating groundswell of emptiness.  _Nothing_. She hurts in such ways that she thinks she'd rather die than feel like she does now.

" _No_ ," she sobs into her phone.

* * *

Rachel stares at the door to Quinn's hospital room.

She can't stop trembling. She can't stop the bludgeoning beat of her heart. She can't stop the void crawling over her skin.

She aches. She hurts. Her soul howls in agony.

Despite the deal, she wanted everything. And because of her weakness, she has nothing.

She's not sure how long she stands there. She's not sure how long she waits. She can still feel the tick of the secondhand echoing through her. The nurse asks her if she's okay. Her words sound muffled. Rachel nods her head. The nurse hovers around her. The doctors come and go.

She waits for her turn to say goodbye.

Nathan emerges from the room. He shadowed Judy in to give her support. Rachel avoids his eyes. She can feel the sympathy radiating from him. She isn't worthy of it.

Judy follows some time later. Rachel isn't sure how much time passes. But Judy appears years older. Nathan wraps her up in his arms, leading her over toward the doctors. The nurse that's been watching over her says something, making a gesture toward the door.

Rachel's footsteps are unsteady. Her breathing is faint. She leans against the doorway and closes her eyes.

She dreams of Quinn performing at Nationals. Free and happy at Yale. Twirling her in Millennium Park. Kissing her under the Jacobs' marquee. Watching her in her black dress and pale skin. Smiling at her as she wakes. Dancing with her at Seth's birthday party. Coming undone in her arms.

She breathes, opens her eyes, and steps inside the room.

She wasn't sure what she expected, but Quinn looks like she could be sleeping. Her chest rises and falls. There is even a faint tint of color to her skin. But Rachel knows that's just the wonders of modern medicine maintaining the perfect balance to sustain a human body's physical life. There is nothing behind Quinn's closed eyes.

_She's gone._

Rachel approaches slowly. Each step forward sends of a surge of pain ringing through her body. She reaches Quinn's side, and thinks that it should be her because she has nothing left.

" _I'm sorry_ ," she cries. "I'm so sorry."

The rest of her words, her thoughts, her feelings are drowned by her tears. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't ever supposed to be Quinn that suffered. It wasn't ever supposed to be Quinn that paid for her weakness.

She hesitates, reaching out. But she can't resist touching her one final time.

She takes Quinn's hand, interlocking their fingers and unexpectedly falls into gray.

* * *

_The gray remains infinite. She breathes in its never-ending expanse._

_There's a hand in her own._

_Quinn floats beside her, clad in her black dress. Blonde tendrils hover, weightless. Even here, in this otherworldly space, Quinn's eyes remain closed._

_But beyond Quinn, beyond herself, there is no beginning and no end._

_Her heart races._

_A sliver of hope._

_This is fate._

" _Change it!" she cries out. "Please! Let Quinn live! I want a deal!"_

_Silence. Only gray._

" _Please! Please! She doesn't deserve it!" Rachel screams into the endlessness._

_There is nothing. Nothing._

" _Please," she begs. Her heart drops. Why is she here? Why doesn't Fate answer? "Please! I would give everything for her."_

" **It is broken.** **You chose your future Rachel Barbra Berry."**

_Her heart jolts. She trembles. The voice is everywhere and nowhere at once. Hope bubbles through her._

" _I never wanted this! I don't want my future!"_

" **You knew the terms of the agreement. To change a person's fate is no simple task. To change it, another's must be changed in turn. To give, something else must be taken away. Equilibrium must be maintained."**

" _I want her to live. She needs to live! She deserves life. She deserves happiness," Rachel says. Her desperation is a living, breathing thing._

" **Lucy Quinn Fabray was not meant to live beyond the accident. Her life was to be extinguished. You surrendered your future for her life. You took your future back and her death is all that remains."**

_Rachel looks at Quinn. In the curve of her body, the contours of her features, Rachel sees the end of all things. She sees the beginning of all things. A torch blazes in her heart._

" _I want a new deal then. To give something must be taken away? My life for Quinn's."_

_There is silence. Her heart pounds. She squeezes Quinn's hand. This is the only absolution that remains. Her death. Quinn's life. An equilibrium._

_This is what she can give._

" **You were granted an exchange. No more shall be given."**

_The words slam into her. They leave her breathless._

" _No! No, You must!" she chokes on her tears. "I die. Quinn lives. It's balanced! It's fair! Don't punish her for my sins!"_

" **It is not punishment. It is fate."**

" _I don't care about fate! Quinn should live. Quinn needs to live. Please!"_

" **It is fate. Lucy Quinn Fabray was not meant to live. You took back what is yours, Rachel Barbra Berry. Thus, Lucy Quinn Fabray is given back what is hers. Death."**

" _Then why am I here!? Why is Quinn here this time!? Why did I even get a deal in the first place!?" Rachel shouts, her voice hoarse. She's falling apart all over again._

" **This one knows the path those are born to. This one guides those on their path. This one appears to those who have beckoned through the ages. But this one lacks omniscience."**

" _So there is nothing for me here," Rachel whispers. She shatters. "And there is nothing for me there."_

" **You have taken back the fate you were born to."**

" _There's no meaning to it anymore!" Rachel screams. She swallows. Each heartbeat pounds through her body, an angry reminder of life with nothing left that truly matters. "I can't! I can't set foot on a stage because I know all I will ever see is Quinn. I've lost everything. My future. Quinn's life. I have none of it anymore."_

" **You were born unto your fate. You changed your fate for Lucy Quinn Fabray. You have since reclaimed your fate. You have your future."**

" _I've lost Quinn," she cries. Her heart shatters, littering shards of her soul. And Quinn is splintering, being claimed by the gray. Rachel holds her hand tighter and tighter because this is it. "I've lost everything. Don't you understand? After what we've had together—I have no future. I can't sing. I can't dance. I can't perform. Not after what I've done."_

_The gray is suffocating. The gray is silent. She thinks she will drown in its boundlessness, but even if she doesn't, Rachel is eternally crippled. Without a heart. Without part of her soul._

" _Can't you see? Can't you see how Quinn has changed me? Can't you see how love has rewritten everything?" Rachel says in heartsick earnest._

" **This one knows Lucy Quinn Fabray was yours as you were hers. This one knows that it enveloped you both. But this one cannot see all."**

_The gray is overwhelming, and in this place, Quinn is evanescent. All Rachel knows is the shattering is almost complete, and there is nothing without Quinn._

" _She gave me an equilibrium," Rachel says softly and more to herself than anything. "You can understand that. A balance between an independence to chase my dreams and a need to be by her side._ _I can't chase any dream—I can't have my future—if Quinn's life is the price!"_

" **You are unable to follow the path of your original fate?"**

_The voice remains as composed and as androgynous as ever, but there is a hint of something._

_Something new._

" _I can't. It comes at Quinn's life. Her life. I love her, yet I am the one that killed her," she says, anguished. "No matter her fate, her life is on me."_

" **There are fates that people are born into. There are fates that this one can create. You denied the fate this one created. In your heart of hearts, do you deny the fate you were born to as well?"**

" _It's not a matter of denying," Rachel says thickly. "It's not a choice. I'm incapable. I can't take that fate because Quinn has changed everything."_

_There's a pulse. The gray shudders. Rachel trembles. She pulls what is left of Quinn to her. She falls to her knees, cradling Quinn to her chest and certain that everything is going to come crashing down._

" **There are fates brought about by equilibrium. Fates that this one cannot see because they are a human creation."**

_Quinn is fragmenting._

**"These fates are rare."**

_Disappearing._

**"These fates are exceptional."**

_Coming unmade._

**"These fates are formed only under a heart and soul's influence."**

_And Rachel is certain she is too._

_She thinks about how Quinn could see the gray. She thinks about how Quinn is here with her now. She holds Quinn as the gray digs through her skin, claiming her once and for all. She cannot look away, even as it claims her too._

" **You have no fate you were born too. You have no fate that this one changed. You have only a fate of your own creation. This is your fate, Rachel Barbra Berry."**

_The gray quakes._

_Shudders._

_Splinters._

_Quinn is whole in her arms._

_Hazel eyes open._

* * *

Rachel wakes.

And the very first thing she knows is that there is a hand squeezing hers.

Adrenaline flies through her blood as the world around her shines with color and song. At the center of it all, are sleepy hazel eyes.

It is the single most beautiful thing she has ever witnessed.

Rachel cries. She clutches Quinn's hand, desperate and engulfed in the absolute pinnacles of relief, guilt, and love.

Quinn grips her hand back. Warm, strong, and very much alive.

The door breaks open, filling the room with white coats and scrubs. Everything descends into chaos. But Quinn's eyes never leave hers.

* * *

Later, after dozens of tests, after tears and excitement, and after proclamations of miracles, there is a moment of peace. But during it all, there was  _no_  resounding tick of the secondhand. There was  _no_  gray.

Rachel waited, never far, but oscillating between the crushing weight of guilt and the pure weightlessness of relief. And now, as the nurse files out, shaking her head and smiling, and Nathan takes Judy outside for some fresh air, it's just Rachel and Quinn.

"They want to keep me a few more days to be sure. I'm just hoping they don't turn me into some sort of lab rat," Quinn says. Her voice is strong; her features warm and bright. Almost all the machines monitoring her have been disconnected. She smiles, and it's like she's everywhere but in a hospital bed.

Rachel tries to return it, but it's too much. She swallows heavily, trying to hang on to her control.

"Come here," Quinn says gently, holding out her hand.

Rachel hovers at the end of the bed.

"Rach," Quinn says softly, "come here."

So she approaches, and she breaks. " _I'm sorry_. I was so weak."

" _No_ ," Quinn says emphatically, reaching for her. "No. You had two fates fighting for you. Rachel… _you_ …you made a third."

"You saw…?" Rachel says thickly as Quinn pulls her onto the hospital bed with her.

"I woke for a moment in the gray. And when I did, I knew everything."

"It shouldn't have ever had come  _that_ ," Rachel says weakly. "You suffered so much. All because of me. I don't know how you can stand to look at me."

"No. Rachel, you are  _so strong_. You warred with your fate. You warred with my fate. You saved me. You aren't weak. You're the strongest person I know."

Rachel is silent. And it still hurts. It still crawls through her—the guilt, the shame, the absolute sin. But somehow, she knows, it's going to be okay.

Quinn leans in closer, eyes searching Rachel's own in wonderment. "You changed the world for me."

* * *

**~ 10 Years Later ~**

She waits in the wings for her cue from the assistant director. She watches the monitor as Seth, still boyishly handsome and infinitely charming at 30, finishes up a segment. He gives a wicked grin as he delivers the punchline of joke, which stretches even wider as the audience eats it up. When the laughter dies down, he continues. "Our guest this evening is an old friend of mine, who as rumor has it, helped to make sure I got this job a few years ago. She really needs no introduction. You all know her, but please welcome Ms. Rachel Berry!"

It's amazing how she can still find applause to be overwhelming after all these years. She walks out with genuine smile and a wave. Seth greets her in an enthusiastic hug.

Rachel laughs as she takes her seat. "That was a better greeting than the one you gave me when I arrived on set!"

The audience titters behind the lights.

"I was busy," Seth says to her. He then looks toward the camera, talking to the people watching instead. "Doing important pre-show things!"

"Right, and your greeting out here has nothing to do with hanging on to my coattails for fame?" Rachel says with a teasing smile.

Seth waves a finger at her, and then holds out his arms. "I don't think I need it. Am I right guys?"

There's a cheer of approval from the audience, and both Seth and Rachel laugh.

"Alright, alright, let's get to business. New movie? New TV show? Musical? Album? Book? Announcing your leadership of the world? Why are you here? You're so busy I can't keep track these days," Seth says.

"Hmm," Rachel says, playing along. She might have talked to a few producers when this opportunity opened up two years ago, but there was a reason Seth got the job despite being relatively unknown. He's  _good._ He's candid, and he's never once held an awkward interview. The ratings have skyrocketed since he's taken over. "I think, I think it's a movie this time."

"A movie, yeah. That sounds right. I might have heard something about that. And how you're pretty much guaranteed an Oscar."

"Oh no, there are so many great actresses with great roles this year," she says genuinely. "I know there's talk, but it's much too early."

"Well let's check out a clip? As your friend, I promise to give you an honest opinion. No brown-nosing from me. Not anymore anyway," Seth says, winking. "Can you tell us a little something about what we're going to see?"

"I can't say much without giving important plot points away, but the story is about fate. About whether we truly have any choices in our actions. In this clip, you'll see the moment where my character begins to question herself and everything she knows."

The video starts playing a short scene from the movie, and, just like applause can still be overwhelming, her heart still hammers at seeing herself on screen.

At the end of the clip, the audience whispers, titillated, and Seth looks at her expectantly.

Rachel laughs. "There also might be some mystical elements."

"What attracted you to this role?" Seth asks, "It's a bit different from your other work both on film and on stage."

"The character's journey touched me on a personal level. After reading the script, I couldn't get it out of my head."

"So do you believe in fate?" Seth asks, even though he knows the answer. He doesn't know  _everything_ , but fate is something Rachel can never get out of her head and it's come up in conversation.

"Yes, I do," she says sincerely. "But I also think it's not so simple. That we have more power than we realize."

"You sure you don't want to add philosopher on to your list of accomplishments and accolades?"

"As you said," Rachel says lightly. "I am much too busy."

"Okay, you can't use my own words against me. My show, my rules. But I digress, how was shooting this film? Any fun stuff on set? There were a lot of rumors circulating..."

"Oh everything was great! I loved working with everyone, but those rumors? About the hookups and trailer sex?"

"Yeah those! Everything is always about sex!" Seth says, goading her on with a grin as the audience laughs.

"Seth, have you  _seen_  Quinn?"

As soon as she drops Quinn's name, the audience erupts into cheers and Rachel can't keep the smile off her face.

Seth laughs. "That's fair. So ten years together right?"

"Almost eleven!" Rachel corrects. It's her turn to look away from Seth and at the camera. She shakes her head dramatically. "As an old friend, you would think he would know all this already."

"It's not my fault you two are so busy I hardly get to see you. I have to book you for my show in order to catch up these days."

"There are important issues that we've been—"

"Oh like this?" Seth interrupts.

Rachel brings a hand up to her face in an attempt to hide her chagrinned smile as a now familiar picture is brought up on the monitor. The audience buzzes and clamors. She took Quinn on a getaway the past weekend. While enjoying their short vacation, a fan recognized them and snatched a photograph. Rachel knows the photo has been all over the Internet. There's nothing obscene depicted, but it still paints an intimate picture. Quinn stands in the clear blue water with Rachel's legs wrapped around her waist. Their foreheads rest against each as they share a moment of peace.

"Is anything private anymore?"

"Well, you were on a public beach," Seth says, raising an eyebrow.

"It was a surprise trip. We took it on a whim," Rachel defends.

Seth smirks. "In all seriousness, when you're not acting and Quinn isn't writing up something fancy for  _The New Yorker_ or  _Newsweek Global_ or  _The Atlantic_ , you two have been spearheading the marriage equality campaign. In fact,  _Time_  did a report on the success and you two posed together for the cover?"

There's another cheer from the audience as the cover from the latest issue appears on the screen. Quinn's arm is wrapped low around her waist as Rachel stands close against her. It's a pose that can't be mistaken for anything but romantic.

"Quinn is the love of my life. She's my soulmate," Rachel says seriously when the cheers die down. She takes a breath. "We went through some truly difficult times early on, and we couldn't keep each other a secret even if we tried after that. I'm a performer, but by virtue of keeping our relationship open for the public eye, I've become an advocate too. Quinn and I are just doing what we can to help change how people view love."

"And by all accounts, you're succeeding," Seth says. "Maybe it's fate?"

"Maybe," Rachel says with a soft, sincere smile, thinking of Quinn.

Seth wraps up the interview, and she walks out during the break, steps light and carefree. The assistant director points her to an intern who escorts her back to the dressing room. Rachel thanks the intern at the door, waving him away as she steps inside.

"Soulmate huh?" Quinn says, a smirk playing across her lips. She stands up from the couch, where she had been waiting and watching the interview. She smooths out nonexistent wrinkles in her clothes and saunters toward her. Rachel feels her heart pick up speed at the gleam in Quinn's eyes. "I better be considering that fate has you stuck with me."

Instead of responding, Rachel strides forward, meeting Quinn in a kiss still as intoxicating as the first one they shared all those years ago. They pull back, sharing contented smiles. And Rachel believes that she has everything.

**\- The End -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. It's been quite the journey. I'm happy to field any comments and questions you may have.
> 
> If you'd like, you can go to my ["Equilibrium" Master Post](http://justtripping.tumblr.com/equilibrium) to read my comments and author's notes I made while writing this fic.


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